THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  EYES 


T 


HE  DESIRE 


OF  THE  EYES 


JIna  other  $toil($ 


BY 


GRANT  AI,I,EN 

AUTHOR  OP  "A  BRIDE  FROM  THB  DBSBRT," 
"I'HB  WOMAN  WHO  DID"  ETC.,  BTC 


NEW  YORK 

R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 

112   FIFTH  AVENUE 


•      (I 


Copyright.  i89i.»9>'9*-'» 
GRANT  AXASN 


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The  Desire  of  the  Eytt 


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CONTENTS. 


The  Desire  of  the  Eyes 

Cris-Cross  Love 

The  Governor's  Story     . 

Dick  Prothero's  Luck 

The  Reverend  John  Greedy 

Mr.  Ghung 

The  Gurate  of  Ghurnside 

An  Episode  in  High  Life 

My  New  Year's  Eve  Among  the  Mummies 

The  Foundering  of  the  "  Fortuna  " 

The  Mysterious  Occurrence  in  Piccadilly 

Garvalho  ...... 

Pausodyne  :  A  Great  Ghemical  Discovery 


[5] 


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THE  DESIRE  OF  THE   EYES. 


I. 


Two  IN  a  boat,  on  Windermere. 

The  time  was  late  autumn  ;  the  hour  was  twiM^ht. 
Faint  ghosts  of  purple  mountains  floated  dim  on  the 
water,  backed  up  by  the  mellow  glow  of  a  reflected 
sunset.  Distant  sounds  of  laughter  and  of  singing 
voices  scarcely  broke  the  tingling  stillness.  It  was  a 
moment  for  love-making.  Their  souls  thrilled  within 
them. 

He  dropped  the  oars,  and  leaned  forward  towards 
the  seat  in  the  stern  where  Thora  was  sitting.  **  Say 
yes,"  he  cried,  eagerly.     "  It  must  be  yes,  Thora." 

He  had  never  called  her  Thora  to  her  face  till  that 
evening.  Her  name  sounded  sweeter  to  her  on  Lionel 
Etheredge's  lips  than  she  had  ever  before  thought  it. 
But  still  she  held  back  Her  heart  struggled  within 
her. 

"  No  no,  Mr.  Etheredge,"  she  answered,  fighting 
hard  against  her  own  overpowering  impulse.  "  Never 
ask  me  again.     I  mustn't,  I  mustn't." 

"Why  *  Mr.  Etheredge'?"  the  young  man  cried, 
gazing  deep  into  her  eyes.  "  I  said  *  Thora.'  Why 
not, '  No,  Lionel  ?'"    •        •  -     •:    '    ■■-    :     ....•>... 


8  STRANGE  STORIES. 

The  girl's  lips  fragied  the  words,  faintly.  "  No, 
Lionel,"  she  repeated  after  him,  flushing.  It  was 
sweet  to  say  "  Lionel"  aloud  to  him  that  night,  as  she 
had  said  it  a  hundred  times  before  to  herself — even 
though  she  said  it  now  with  an  unwilling  "  No"  tacked 
on  to  it. 

But  Lionel  Etheredge  laughed  a  low,  melodious 
laugh  to  himself.  "I  have  caught  you,  Thora!"  he 
exclaimed,  seizing  her  hand  in  his  own.  "  My  queen, 
I  have  caught  you  !  When  once  a  woman  says  *No, 
Lionel,*  in  a  voice  like  that,  it  doesn't  mean  what  it 
says.  It  means,  '  Yes,  Lionel.'  It  means  *  Yes, 
Lionel,'  and  a  great  deal  more.  It  means,  *I  want 
you  ;  I  long  for  you  ;  I  must  be  yours ;  but  I  won't 
let  my  heart  say  what  it  is  bursting  to  tell  you,  I 
love  you,  I  love  you.'     Isn't  that  so,  Thora  ?" 

Thora's  face  flushed  a  daintier  crimson  still  in  the 
sunset  glow.  She  clasped  her  hands  hard.  He  had 
read  her  ;  he  had  read  her  I  "  Oh,  Lionel,"  she  cried, 
raising  her  eyelids  and  glancing  at  him  with  the  timid 
confidence  of  a  girl's  first  love,  "  how  you  see  through 
and  through  me  !"  Then  she  shrank  away  terrified. 
Had  she  said  too  much  !  How  could  she  ever  draw 
back  now,  after  so  frank  a  confession  ? 

But  the  man,  like  a  man,  knew  what  followed  as  of 
course.  He  seized  her  in  his  arms,  regardless  cf  the 
dangers  of  lake  navigation,  and  kissed  her  a  dozen 
times,  fervid  lover-like  kisses. 

Thora  took  them  without  demur.  She  was  too 
queenly  to  resist  them.  It  was  that  indeed  that  so 
greatly  charmed  him  in  her — her  instinctive  dignity. 
People  at  Windermere  hardly  took  the  Braydales  for 
gentlefolk;  they  were  but  "statesmen,"   or  yeomen 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  EYES.  9 

farmers  of  a  few  generations  standing ;  and  Thora 
was  companion  to  a  somewhat  richer  aunt,  who  had 
married  a  Manchester  merchant  of  the  second  order. 
But  Lionel  Etheredge  saw  in  her  a  queen  of  women, 
whom  any  man  might  be  proud  to  have  won  on  his 
merits.  " 

After  a  moment  she  disengaged  him  gently,  with 
that  unobtrusive  imperiousness  there  is  no  disobeying. 
He  drew  back  and  gazed  at  her.  She  was  flushed  but 
beautiful.  Her  statuesque  features  were  pure  Greek 
in  outline ;  but  that  delicate  pink  glow — no  art  could 
equal  it.  Yet  it  was  not  for  her  stately  beauty  alone 
that  he  loved  her,  he  said  to  himself  as  he  looked  at 
her.  A  face  like  that  must  harbor  a  soul  beneath  it. 
The  light  that  was  in  her  lighted  her  eyes  as  she  gazed 
at  him. 

**  It  is  for  the  last  time,  Lionel,"  she  murmured,  with 
a  regretful  tone,  as  she  drew  back  and  let  her  lids 
drop  suddenly. 

"  No,  no,  Thora ;  the  first — the  first  of  ten  thousand," 
the  young  man  answered,  eagerly.  "When  once  you 
have  said  my  name  to  me  like  that,  you  have  told  me 
everything;  you  are  mine  for  ever."  * 

Thora  gazed  at  him  earnestly.  "  I  wish  it  were  so," 
she  answered  frankly,  with  a  lingering  cadence.  "  But 
it  can  never  be,  dear  Lionel.  I  mustn't  allow  it.  For 
your  sake  I  must  be  strong  and  say  no  once  for  all  to 
you.  Your  uncle  would  never  consent  to  it — and  you 
owe  everything  to  your  uncle." 

The  young  man  gave  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  My 
uncle,"  he  cried,  half-contemptuously.  "  Oh,  bother 
my  uncle  I  No,  Thora,  I  know  he's  been  kindness  it- 
self to  me,"^for  there  was  reproach  in  her  eye  at  the 


lO  STRANGE  STORIES. 

Strong  word  he  had  checked  ;  "  but  there  are  matters 
where  a  man  must  take  no  account  of  uncles.  Here, 
dearest,  I  shall  row  you  out  a  little  further  again,  and 
we'll  talk  this  over  a  bit  more  together.  Your  aunt  ? 
Oh,  aunts  are  in  the  same  box  as  uncles.  She  must 
wait  half-an-hour.  I  won't  let  you  go  till  you've  said 
yes  outright  to  me." 

We  all  know  the  end  of  a  colloquy  that  begins  in 
that  way.  When  a  woman  is  fighting  against  her  own 
heart  she  has  a  powerful  antagonist ;  and  when  that 
antagonist  is  aided  and  abetted  by  the  man  she  loves, 
why  the  issue  of  the  conflict  is  a  foregone  conclusion. 
Before  the  boat  came  to  land  again  Thora  Braydale 
had  yielded.  She  would  be  Lionel  Etheredge's  wife 
as  soon  as  he  had  obtained  his  uncle's  consent  to  the 
marriage. 

"  But  don't  ask  Mr.  Ashby,"  she  said  tremulously, 
"  till  Aunt  Lizzie  and  I  have  got  away  to  Antibes.  I 
shall  be  afraid  to  hear  what  he  says  to  you  when  you 
break  the  news  to  him.  I  know  he  won't  like  it.  And 
if  he  gives  his  consent — which  he  won't  I'm  sure — you 
must  come  out  there  to  marry  me.' 


II 


IL 

Mr.  Ashby  wore  a  fur-lined  coat,  with  sable  cuffs 
and  collar.  Now  you  know  the  man.  Fur  trimmings 
to  a  masculine  overcoat  stamp  a  type.  And  the  type 
is  Mr.  Ashby's. 

He  was  walking  with  the  Earl  on  the  terrace  in 
Itont  of  his  house  in  Hertfoi-dshire,     The  Virginia 


THE  DESIRE   OF  THE   EYES.  II 

creeper  on  the  battlements  was  one  blaze  of  crimson. 
Mr.  Ashby  would  not  have  foregone  those  crenellated 
battlements  for  ten  thousand  pounds.  They  looked  so 
baronial !  And  being  a  lately-enriched  merchant  in 
the  Russia  trade,  Mr.  Ashby  naturally  loved  to  be 
baronial.  He  adored  the  creeper.  It  redeemed  the 
rawness  of  the  brand  new  coat  of  arms,  carved  in 
brand  new  Bath  stone,  that  stared  him  in  the  face 
above  the  principal  doorway. 

Lionel  was  Mr.  Ashby 's  favorite  nephew.  For 
Lionel's  mother,  Mr.  Ashby's  sister,  had  married  a 
clergyman  ;  and  a  clergyman,  as  everybody  knows,  is 
a  most  respectable  family  adjunct.  Mr.  Ashby  had 
brought  Lionel  up,  his  father  being  dead,  and  had  sent 
him  to  Harrow,  and  in  due  time  to  Oxford,  and  had 
made  a  barrister  of  him,  not  with  any  idea  of  his  prac- 
ticing at  the  bar  for  filthy  lucre  (of  which  Mr.  Ashby 
had  enough  for  both),  but  because  a  wig  and  gown  are 
such  gentlemanly  properties  !  It  was  Mr.  Ashby's 
dream  in  life,  indeed,  that  Lionel  should  go  into  Par- 
liament, and  marry  a  lady  of  title — a  courtesy  lady. 
He  wanted  to  be  able  to  say,  "  My  nephew,  Lionel, 
and  his  wife.  Lady  Ethel,"  or  "  Lady  Ermyntrude,"  as 
the  case  might  be,  "  are  stopping  with  me  at  Fritting- 
ton."  It  would  be  lifting  himself  a  step  nearer  to 
those  social  heavens  where  peers  dwell  apart  in  solemn 
grandeur,  lonely  and  self-contained,  like  the  gods  of 
Epicurus. 

And  now,  Mr.  Ashby  stood  actually  within  reach  of 
that  earthly  apotheosis. 

Lord  Ballyshannon  was  only  an  Irish  peer,  to  be 
sure,  with  no  rent-roll  left  him  by  the  land  courts  to 
speak  of ;  and  Lady  Norah  O'Sullivan  was  not  a  name 


12  <  STRANGE  STORIES.  '  ' 

to  conjure  with  as  it  stood,  it  is  true  ;  but  what  of  that? 
An  earl's  daughter  is  an  earl's  daughter,  "  be  the  same 
more  or  less,"  as  the  lawyers  would  put  it ;  and  if 
Lionel  married  her,  why,  she  would  be  Lady  Norah 
Etheredge,  which  is  clearly  quite  another  matter.  He 
would  have  preferred  an  Ermyntrude  or  a  Gladys  to  a 
Norah,  it  is  true  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  peerages — 
well — Russia  merchants  musn't  be  choosers.  They 
must  take  their  title  wherever  they  can  get  it.  Lady 
Norah  was  pretty ;  Lady  Norah  was  young ;  Lady 
Norah  had  the  indefinable  grace  and  charm  of  Irish 
manners  ;  and  Lionel  had  paid  her  very  marked  atten- 
tion at  the  dance  at  the  Walton  De  Trafford's  last 
season.  If  he  hinted  to  Lionel  that  Lady  Norah's 
papa  was  open  to  an  arrangement,  Lionel  would,  of 
course,  be  delighted  to  carry  out  his  suggestion. 

**  And  your  nephew  is  at  the  Lakes  ?"  Lord  Bally- 
shannon  mused,  pensively,  in  an  unconcerned  fashion. 
"  Lucky  young  dog !  he  has  nothing  on  earth  to  do 
but  run  about  and  enjoy  himself !  While  my  poor, 
dear  boys,  Mr.  Ashby,  have  all  had  to  go  into  Govern- 
ment offices,  and  are  working  for  their  livings  six  hours 
a  day,  as  no  O'Sullivan  ever  did  before  since  the  days 
of  the  deluge." 

Mr.  Ashby  did  not  reply,  "  It's  high  time  they 
began  then."  He  contented  himself  by  drawing  him- 
self up  in  his  fur-lined  coat,  and  remarking  casually, 
"  Yes,  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to  make  my 
nephew  a  very  handsome  allowance." 

"He  doesn't  marry?"  the  Earl  suggested.  They 
both  meant  business ;  but  it  is  etiquette  to  approach 
business  of  the  delicate  character  by  dexterous  flank 
movements. 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  EYES.  *        1$ 

"  No,  he  doesn't  marry,"  the  Russian  merchant 
answered  with  a  preoccupied  air,  weighing  his  words 
very  carefully.  *'  He  doesn't  marry.  The  fact  of  it  is, 
Lord  Ballyshannon,  I'm  a  trifle  particular  about  the 
choice  of  a  wife  for  him.  I  stand  to  him,  you  see,  '  in 
loco  parentis.'  "  Mr.  Ashby  was  proud  of  that  phrase, 
so  he  lingered  on  it  lovingly.  "  *  In  loco  parentis,* " 
he  repeated,  hugging  it ;  "  and  I  don't  wish  him  to 
marry  unless "  Mr.  Ashby  paused  and  deliber- 
ated— '*  unless  I  saw  he  had  formed  an  attachment  for 
a  lady  whose — well,  social  position  was  in  every  way 
suitable  for  him.  If  he  did  happen  to  form  an  attach- 
ment for  such  a  lady,  I  should  of  course  be  ready  to 
make  her  an  ample  settlement — a  very  ample  settle- 
ment." He  gazed  abstractedly  at  the  Earl.  "Five 
thousand  a  year,"  he  murmured,  thoughtfully,  "  I 
should  call  a  handsome  settlement." 

**  Very  handsome,"  the  Earl  answered.  And  they 
lapsed  into  silence. 

"  You  think  so  ?"  Mr.  Ashby  asked  again,  after  a 
moment's  rumination. 

"  Decidedly,"  answered  the  Earl ;  "  if  it  was  tied  up 
upon  the  lady." 

Mr.  Ashby  gazed  once  more  at  him.  "  Oh,  of 
course,  tied  up  upon  her,"  he  admitted  with  readiness. 

"  Strictly  tied  up  upon  her."  And  he  mused  again 
a  second.  That  business  was  arranged.  He  saw  it  in 
the  contented  gleam  in  Lord  Ballyshannon's  eyes,  in 
the  carefully-restrained  curl  of  repressed  satisfaction 
at  the  corner  of  Lord  Ballyshannon's  Milesian  mouth. 
"  Have  a  cigar  ?"  he  said,  carelessly,  drawing  his  case 
from  his  pocket.     '*  Let's  go  and  look  at  the  stables  !" 

But  he  telegraphed  that  evening  to  Lionel  Ether- 


14       •  STRANGE  STORIES. 

edge  at  Ambleside — "  Come  back  at  once.  Bally- 
shannon  will  accept  you.  It's  all  plain  sailing.  The 
girl  will  consent.     I  have  arranged  for  settlements." 


III. 


That  was  a  week  later.  Thort,  Braydale  had  just 
started  with  her  aunt  for  Antibes.  Lionel  was  glad  of 
that,  for  he  couldn't  quite  have  concealed  from  her  the 
pangs  of  agitation  this  telegram  cost  him  ;  and  yet,  it 
would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  tell  her  the  whole 
truth.  She  would  have  begged  him  to  go  back  and 
marry  the  Earl's  daughter. 

However,  he  did  at  once  what  his  uncle  ordered 
him — took  the  first  train  up  to  town  next  morning,  en 
route  for  Frittington  to  see  Mr.  Ashby  on  this  fresh 
development. 

Lionel  Etheredge  had  been  brought  up  in  the  midst 
of  the  wickedest  society  on  earth — the  "  respectable," 
wealthy,  commercial  society  in  London.  He  had  been 
sent  to  a  public  school  and  to  a  fashionable  college,  in 
order  to  "  form  desirable  acquaintances,"  and  to  pick 
up  the  point  of  view  of  the  "  best  people."  He  had 
been  sedulously  taught  from  his  childhood  upwards 
that  his  clear  duty  was  to  trample  under  foot  all  the 
holiest  and  purest  instincts  of  our  natu''e ;  to  sell  his 
manhood  for  title  or  position  in  the  best  market  ;  to 
barter  the  prospect  of  his  uncle's  money  against  a 
peer's  daughter ;  and  to  hold  everything  else,  either 
human  or  divine,  subservient  to  the  base  desire  for 
"  social  advancement."  He  had  learnt  to  think  all 
these   things  as  part  of  an  almost  religious  code  of 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  EYES.  1$ 

action.  He  had  been  assured  that  an  early  marriage, 
an  imprudent  marriage,  a  marriage  "  beneath  him," 
was  the  culminating  point  of  wickedness  and  folly  ;  he 
had  been  given  to  believe  that  right  and  wrong  were 
as  dust  in  the  scales  in  comparison  with  the  claims  of 
the  best  society. 

So  he  had  always  thought — till  he  met  Thora  Bray- 
dale.  And  then,  with  a  rush,  the  whole  false  philos- 
ophy, so  sedulously  piled  up  by  Mr.  Ashby's  hands, 
had  tumbled  piecemeal.  He  saw  things  as  they  really 
were.  He  understood  that  it  is  better,  nobler,  finer  to 
marry  a  woman  you  love  and  respect,  a  woman  who 
can  bring  out  whatever  there  is  of  higher  and  holier 
within  you,  than  to  marry  the  daughter  of  a  dozen 
marquises.  It  came  to  him  with  a  flash ;  and  once  it 
had  come,  the  vile  faith  in  which  he  had  been  brought 
up  disappeared  as  if  by  magic.  He  stood  face  to  face 
at  last  with  the  moral  realities  of  the  universe. 

It  was  a  stormy  meeting  that  day  between  uncle 
and  nephew.  Mr.  Ashby,  bland  at  first,  and  smirk- 
ingly  self-congratulatory,  grew  gradually  astonished, 
then  angry,  then  indignant,  when  he  found  that  the 
nephew  whom  he  had  brought  up  so  well,  "  for  the 
credit  of  the  family,"  was  going  to  wreck  all  in  sight  of 
port  by  refusing  to  marry  Lady  Norah  O'Sullivan. 
For  some  time,  he  could  really  hardly  understand 
that  Lionel  meant  it.  But  when  he  did  understand, 
his  anger  was  unbounded. 

"You've  met  some  girl  in  the  north,"  he  said,  ey- 
ing him  sternly.     "  Tell  me.     Who  was  she  ?" 

Lionel  did  not  attempt  to  deny  the  accusation.  He 
answered  briefly  with  a  restrained  yet  glowing  descrip* 
tion  of  Thora. 


l6  STRANGE  STORIES. 

Mr.  Ashby  gazed  at  him  in  unaffected  disgust.  "  A 
companion  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  An  old  woman's  com- 
panion. A  girl  of  no  family,  no  position,  no  prospects. 
And  you  propose  for  her  sake  to  chuck  over  Lady 
Norah,  who,  as  I  understand  from  Lord  Ballyshannon 
himself,  is  quite  willing  to  accept  you.  This  is  more 
than  foolish;  this  is  more  than  boyish;  this  is  the 
conduct  of  a  madman." 

"  Madman  or  not,"  Lionel  answered,  calmly,  "  I 
mean  to  stick  to  it." 

Then  Mr.  Ashby  tried  pathos.  He  had  consider- 
able claims  on  Lionel ;  and  Lionel  did  not  attempt 
to  deny  or  to  mitigate  them.  He  only  maintained 
that  in  a  matter  like  this  every  man  must  follow 
the  dictates  of  his  own  heart  and  his  own  conscience. 
He  would  not  marry  a  woman  he  did  not  care  for ; 
he  would  not  abstain  from  marrying  a  woman  he  loved 
and  honored. 

At  last  Mr.  Ashby  saw  argument  was  useless 
against  this  headstrong  young  idiot.  The  boy  was 
impracticable.  He  lost  his  temper.  "  Well,  this  is 
the  long  and  short  of  it,"  he  burst  out  at  last.  "  If 
you  marry  the  companion  girl,  you  must  shift  for 
yourself ;  for  not  another  penny  of  mine  shall  you 
ever  handle." 

That  was  unjust,  of  course,  for  no  man  has  a  right 
to  shape  another's  life  on  definite  expectations,  and 
then  arbitrarily  disappoint  them ;  but  Lionel  did  not 
say  so.  He  rose  with  dignity.  "  Uncle,"  he  began, 
slowly,  *•  I  have  much  to  thank  you  for ;  and  I  have 
never  been  ungrateful.  I  thank  you  for  it  still ;  but 
what  you   ask  of  me  to-day,  my  conscience  revolts. 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  EYES.  '         17 

against.  I  cannot  obey  you.  I  shall  marry  Thora — 
and  take  the  consequences." 

"Then  you  can  take  your  luggage  too,"  his  uncle 
said,  coarsely,  the  innate  vulgarity  of  the  man's  nature 
coming  clearly  out  in  that  ugly  quip  from  beneath  its 
shallow  veneer  of  "  nouveau  riche  "  refinement.  "  You 
can  take  your  luggage,  for  you  need  never  again 
expect  to  return  to  Frittington." 

1-ionel  bowed,  and  backed  out  of  the  library.  Half 
an  hour  later  he  had  left  the  Hertfordshire  Hall  for 
ever,  and  was  speeding  up  to  town  to  his  solitary 
chambers. 


IV. 

It  was  not  without  pride  that  he  telegraphed  that 
evening  a  long  account  of  the  episode  to  Thora.  His 
feeling  was  natural.  He  had  suffered  for  her  sake, 
and  he  had  his  own  livelihood  now  to  make  by  his 
own  exertions.  He  was  not  afraid.  He  had  abilities, 
he  knew ;  and,  what  was  far  more  important,  many 
friends  among  solicitors.  For  abilities,  alas,  are  a 
drug  m  the  market.  So  little  did  Lionel  understand 
his  altered  position,  indeed,  that  he  spent  fifteen  shil- 
lings on  that  unnecessary  telegram.  When  you've 
been  accustomed  to  an  allowance  of  a  thousand  a 
year  all  your  life,  you  can't  realize  just  at  once  that 
fifteen  shillings  is  fifteen  shillings.  ' 

On  one  thing  he  was  determined.     He  would  run 
out  to  Antibes  and  see  Thora   just  once  before   he 
settled  down  to  work  in  London  to  earn  himself  an  - 
income  on  which  to  marry  her, 

"  Running  out  to  Antibes,"  seemed  nothing  to  the 


1 8  STRANGE  STORIES. 

young  man.  He  had  sixty  or  seventy  pounds  to  his 
credit  at  the  bank.  That  would  suffice  for  the  pres- 
ent. As  soon  as  he  got  back  he  must  set  to  work 
hard  at  the  bar,  and  meanwhile  try  to  pick  up  "  a  little 
easy  journalism."  It  seems  so  simple  to  earn  your 
living  by  journalism — when  you  have  never  tried  it. 
Just  a  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  there  you  are.  But, 
oh,  heaven,  the  reality  ! 

Next  day  he  set  out  for  Charing  Cross  by  the  morn- 
ing train  for  the  Riviera.  He  would  at  least  see 
Thora,  to  let  her  know  how  much  he  was  giving  up  for 
her  sake,  and  how  cheerfully  he  did  it. 

Calais,  Paris,  Lyons,  he  passed  them  all  gayly  enough, 
flushed  with  youth  and  hope  and  buoyed  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  performed  a  meritorious — nay, 
almost  a  heroic  action.  For  Thora's  sake  he  could  do 
or  give  up  anything.  How  queenly  she  had  looked 
that  evening  at  Windermere!  How  beautiful,  how 
noble !  He  would  prove  himself  worthy  of  her. 
Lady  Norah,  indeed  !  A  mere  Irish  soubrette,  prett/ 
and  piquant,  of  course — but  not  like  his  Thora  ! 

All  night  long  the  train  sped  through  the  darkness 
down  the  interminable  length  of  the  Rhone  valley,  and 
Lionel  had  time  and  to  spare  for  thoughts  of  the  future. 
He  was  young,  he  was  strong,  and  the  loss  of  a  fortune 
appalled  him  but  little.  His  cousin  Charlie  might  take 
it  all  and  welcome.  For  himself,  he  would  be  proud  to 
build  one  up  for  Thora. 

Marseilles  came  with  morning ;  hot  coffee  took  off 
the  fatigue  of  the  night ;  and  then  all  the  next  day  the 
train  still  wound  on  round  those  gracious  bays  and 
bends  of  the  lapis  lazuli  Mediterranean.  The  porphyry 
crags  of  the  Esterel  gleamed  crimson  in  the  full  flood 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  EYES.  19 

of  the  Southern  sunshine;  but  Lionel  hardly  heedc' 
them,  all  glorious  as  they  were,  so  absorbed  was  Ik- 
soul  in  his  expected  meeting  with  Thora.  At  Antibes 
station  he  alighted  from  the  train,  and  took  a  fiacre  to 
the  hotel  on  the  long  white  promontory.  As  soon  as 
he  arrived  there,  forgetful  of  his  long  journey,  he 
hastily  gulped  down  a  second  cup  of  cofTee,  and  then 
went  out  in  search  of  Thora.  A  small  Provencal  boy 
with  a  very  marked  accent  volunteered  to  guide  him 
to  her  aunt's  tiny  villa.  He  reached  it  in  ten  minutes 
— a  dainty  wee  chalet,  surrounded  by  stone-pines,  and 
overlooking  a  spacious  view  of  the  deep  blue  Golfe 
Jouan. 

Lionel  rang  the  bell  hastily.  A  neat  French  maid 
in  a  pretty  cap  of  the  country,  all  crimped  and  crinkled, 
opened  the  door  for  him  gingerly. 

"  Could  he  see  Mademoiselle  Braydale  ?" 

No,  justement,  it  was  impossible.  Mademoiselle 
was  indisposed.     She  was  receiving  no  one. 

"  Indispos  d  '^"  Lionel  echoed,  drawing  back  aghast, 
for  the  girl's  face  was  serious,  "Why,  what  is  the 
matter  with  her  ?" 

The  maid  dropped  her  voice. 

"  Actually,"  she  answered  low,  "  the  case  is  isolated. 
Mademoiselle  has  smallpox." 


V. 

The  blow  was  terrible.     It  cut  Lionel  like  a  knife. 

"  But  I  can  see  her,"  he  cried,  wringing  his  hands  at 
this  sad  end  to  his  little  romance.  "  Give  her  my  card 
at  once,  and  ask  if  I  cannot  see  her." 


20  STRANGE  STORIES. 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  she  answered.  "Those  are  the 
doctor's  orders.  I  tell  you  the  case  is  strictly  isolated. 
She  may  not  receive  anyone." 

For  three  weeks  Lionel  stopped  on,  chafing  at  the 
comfortable  Hotel  du  Cap.  With  Thora  ill,  how 
could  he  ever  go  back  and  begin  that  new  life  in  bus- 
tling London  ?  Day  after  day  he  eat  away  his  soul  in 
the  long  suspense  of  v/atching  and  waiting.  Inquiries 
every  hour  were  all  he  cculd  do.  The  law  was  strict  ; 
Thora  was  isolated  with  all  the  cruel  and  unnecessary 
rigor  of  French  sanitary  legislation.  It  is  their  way 
to  shut  the  stable  door  after  the  steed  is  stolen. 

At  last  she  got  better,  and  was  released  from  dur- 
ance. The  very  first  day  she  was  permitted  by  the 
powers  that  be  to  see  her  friends,  Lionel  went  round 
early  to  the  chalet,  all  eagerness.  To  his  great  sup 
prise,  he  was  given  a  message  that  Thora  could  not 
receive  him.  In  vain  he  remonstrated.  The  little 
maid  was  adamant.  "  Mademoiselle  said  no — not  on 
any  account,  Monsieur  Etheredge  !" 

What  on  earth  could  this  mean  ?  He  fumed  and 
fretted.  An  hour  later,  a  note  in  Thora's  handwrit- 
ing arrived  at  the  hotel.     He  tore  it  open,  breathless. 

"  Dearest  Lionel,"  it  said,  "  you  most  not  come  near 
me.  You  must  never  see  me  again.  My  own  pride 
and  vanity  will  not  permit  it.  Think  of  me  as  I  was  ; 
forget  what  I  have  become.  Go  home  and  marry  Lady 
Norah,  I  implore  you.  My  darling,  my  darling,  I  love 
you  too  much  to  let  you  see  me  now. 

_       .  .  "  Your  heartbroken, 

:  '  "Thora." 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE   EYES.  21 

What  could  Lionel  do  but  sit  down  at  once  and 
write  her  a  passionate  letter  of  unalterable  affection, 
declaring  that  no  matter  what  the  disease  might  have 
done,  he  was  still,  as  ever,  her  devoted  Lionel?  And 
he  ..: '  ;nt  it,  every  word.  He  loved  her  to  distraction  ; 
loved  her  for  herself,  and  also  for  all  he  had  proposed 
to  give  up  for  her.  If  you  want  to  love  anybody, 
take  my  word  for  it,  there  is  no  way  so  sure  as  '  3 
make  for  their  sake  some  tremendous  sacrifice. 

Even  so,  for  three  days,  Thora  refused  to  see  him. 
At  last,  overcome  by  his  entreaties,  and  her  own  long- 
ing to  see  him,  she  yielded  and  received  him. 

Lionel  entered  the  little  salon  full  of  hope  and  cer- 
tainty. The  blinds  were  half  drawn  ;  the  light  was 
uncertain.  But  even  so,  the  truth  was  evident.  Thora 
rose  to  greet  him,  and  held  out  both  her  hands  with  a 
wild,  despairing  gesture.  She  knew  the  worst  already. 
All  she  could  say  was,  **  Lionel !  Lionel !" 

He  gazed  at  her  in  silence.  He  could  not  utter  a 
word.  The  shock  was  too  horrible.  Yet  the  voice 
was  Thora's ! 

She  paused  a  second,  and  looked  hard  at  his  face. 
She  read  his  whole  emotion  there.  He  was  mute  with 
horror,  with  anguish,  with  revulsion ! 

At  last,  in  turn,  he  spoke  just  one  word,  "  Thora  !" 

Thora  burst  into  tears.  Lionel  seated  himself  beside 
her.  He  took  her  hand.  He  put  his  arm  round  her 
tenderly,  and  mingled  his  tears  with  hers.  They  could 
say  no  other  word.     Their  grief  was  speechless. 

At  last,  a  change  came.  Thora  held  him  off  bravely. 
She  broke  into  words.  She  could  never  marry  him 
now.  He  must  go  home  at  once  and  make  his  peace 
with  Lady  Norah  O'SullivaHv 


22  STRANGE   STORIKS. 

Lionel  loved  her  still.  He  could  not  help  but  love 
her.  He  leant  forward  passionately,  and  declared 
from  his  heart  that,  come  what  might,  he  still  must 
marry  her.  Yet  even  as  he  spoke,  Thora  saw  in  his 
face  a  terrible  shadow  of  shrinking.  She  held  him  off 
once  more.  "  Never,  never!"  she  cried.  "  For  your 
sake,  Lionel,  I  can't  wreck  your  whole  life  so  !" 


VL 


Three  days  more  passed  ;  and  after  that  first  inter- 
view, Thora  refused  again  to  see  her  lover.  Many 
times  daily  Lionel  called  at  the  chalet  with  eager  little 
notes ;  Thora  refused  to  receive  him.  He  had  not 
been  able  to  hide  on  his  face  the  shock  of  that  first 
sight  of  what  she  had  now  become  ;  and  her  woman's 
pride  would  not  allow  her  any  longer  to  meet  the  lover 
who  had  looked  with  such  eyes  on  her.  It  was  inevit- 
able, she  knew  ;  her  own  glass  told  her  that ;  yet,  still, 
she  could  not  bear  it.  She  shut  herself  up  in  her  room, 
and  brooded  silently. 

At  last,  one  calm  evening,  she  yielded  to  his  entreat- 
ies, and  resolved,  in  memory  of  that  golden  evening 
at  Windermere,  to  go  out  on  the  water  with  him. 
She  waited  till  dusk  ;  he  could  see  her  less  so,  and  she 
could  see  less  the  emotion  on  his  features.  The  even- 
ing came.  She  stole  forth,  closely  veiled,  and  met 
him  by  the  water.  In  the  dusk,  Lionel  could  make 
out  only  the  beautiful  queenly  figure,  beautiful  and 
queenly  still ;  he  could  hear  only  the  soft  voice,  mur- 
muring lower  than  ever.    They  stepped  into  the  boat, 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  EYES.  '       23 

and  pushed  out  into  the  bay.  The  evening  lights 
painted  the  Esterel  purple;  a  deep  glow  of  sunset 
gilded  the  gray  crags  on  the  Ee  Ste.  Marguerite. 

Once  clear  round  the  point,  Lionel  had  forgotten 
everything.  It  was  Thora's  figure  at  the  stern,  Thora's 
voice  that  resounded  so  musically  on  the  water.  He 
loved  her  as  dearly  as  ever  he  had  loved  her.  Indeed, 
he  had  never  once  ceased  to  love  her  ;  for  the  first 
shock  was  but  the  inevitable  recognition  of  so  great  a 
change.  He  leant  forward  to  her  tenderly.  He 
poured  out  words  of  love.  He  was  himself,  as  at 
Windermere.  Thora  listened,  and  allowed  herself  to 
forget  for  a  moment.  They  thought  of  Lucy  Hutchin- 
son's words,  how  God  had  repaid  her  lover's  devotion 
in  a  similiar  case  by  restoring  her  to  him,  as  the  aged 
lady  wrote  afterwards  with  simple  unself-consciousness. 
"as  beautiful  as  ever."  The  evening  wore  on.  They 
drifted  out  unconsciously.  The  sea  was  so  calm,  the 
night  so  lovely,  they  never  took  thought  of  time  or 
space ;  they  just  talked  and  floated.  Bit  by  bit  Thora 
gave  way.  Lionel's  arm  was  around  her.  His  voice 
was  at  her  ear.  His  words  were  tender.  At  last, 
yielding  suddenly  to  a  womanly  impulse,  she  clasped 
him  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him  ecstatically.  "  Why 
need  it  matter,  darling  ?"  she  cried.  "  What  is  it  to 
you  and  me  ?  You  love  me  ;  I  love  you.  Let  it  be 
as  you  will.  After  all,  I  have  tried  you  twice,  and 
found  you  constant.  Lionel,  my  Lionel,  I  will  trust 
you.     I  will  marry  you  !" 

After  that  they  sat  still,  hand  locked  in  hand,  for 
twenty  minutes  of  unalloyed  happiness. 


24  STRANGE  STORIES. 


VII. 


Then  the  truth  came  upon  them.  They  had  drifted 
away  out  of  sight  of  land.  Even  the  peaks  of  the 
Esterel  were  no  longer  visible.  That  treacherous  cur- 
rent had  carried  them  seaward  unawares.  The  wind 
was  rising.  With  the  deadly  suddenness  of  a  moun- 
tain squall,  the  Mistral  was  upon  them.  The  sea  rose 
— rose — rose — and  ever  rose  more  furious.  Lionel 
plied  the  oars  with  all  his  might  in  vain  ;  he  could  see 
only  too  clearly  he  was  making  no  progress.  An  hour 
passed  slowly  in  such  a  wild  struggle.  Then  he  laid 
them  down,  helpless,  and  took  his  seat  beside  Thora. 
He  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  She  nestled  into  them 
naturally. 

"  Darling,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  end.  We  can  never 
live  through  it." 

She  looked  at  him  through  the  gloom.  Her  voice 
hardly  trembled.  *'  I  know  it  dearest,"  she  said,  with 
a  brave  pressure  of  the  hand.  "  It  is  better  so.  We 
have  had  one  happy  hour.  We  could  never  have  had 
it  again  so  pure  and  so  happy.  I  have  proved  your 
love,  and  found  it  true  as  steel.  I  want  no  more  now, 
but  to  die  in  your  arms.  To  live  till  to-morrow  would 
spoil  the  perfect  dream  of  it." 

And  so  they  two  went  down  in  their  moinent  of 
happiness. 


•i 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE. 


I. 

They  were  simply  heart-broken.  Yes,  I  repeat  it, 
heart-broken.  No  diamond  cement  that  ever  was 
made  sufficed  to  repair  the  injured  organs.  For  when 
Philip  Oilman  left  London  to  go  out  to  India,  he  cried 
his  eyes  red  over  his  sad  farewells  to  Aggie  Oswald. 
They  two  were  in  love  with  one  another — madly  in 
love — as  boys  and  girls  will  be,  with  that  unalterable 
affection  which  endures  for  eternity — or,  to  be  more 
precisely  mathematical,  for  six  months  at  least,  on  an 
average  computation.  Philip  had  been  placed  third  in 
the  India  Civil  competition ;  and  the  boundless  pros- 
pective wealth  which  that  position  promises  (in  depre- 
ciated rupees)  he  proceeded  forthwith  to  lay  at  the  feet 
of  pretty  little  Aggie.  And  no  wonder  he  did  so ;  for 
she  was  an  airy,  fairy  little  butterfly  as  ever  flitted 
through  a  ballroom  among  admiring  lads  of  one-and- 
twenty.  Everybody  who  saw  her  fell  a  victim  at  once 
to  that  fluffy  brown  hair  and  that  arch  little  smile  of 
hers.  No  Oxford  undergraduate  was  ever  known  to 
resist  that  tripping  tongue  ;  no  subaltern  at  Aldershot 
was  ever  known  to  withstand  the  winning  grace  of 
those  pinky-white  cheeks  and  those  cherry-red  lips  of 
Aggie  Oswald's, 

[25] 


^6  STRANGE  STORIES. 

But  Philip  Gilman  was  the  hero  who  bore  off  the 
prize.  What  wonder,  when  he  could  make  love  to  her 
in  Tamil  and  Telugu,  almost  as  fluently  as  in  English 
itself  ?  Not  that  Aggie  understood  one  word  of  either 
of  those  learned  tongues — a  little  bad  French  bounded 
the  tale  of  her  linguistic  accomplishments — but  the 
glamour  of  them  shone  through  to  her  from  his  thought- 
ful brown  eyes,  which  spoke  a  language  universally 
understanded.  He  was  a  clever  fellow,  Philip,  and  an 
earnest  one  into  the  bargain  ;  and  if  he  thought  him- 
self desperately  in  love  with  the  pretty  fluffy  hair  and 
the  laughing  mouth,  why,  many  a  good  man  has  made 
the  same  sort  of  mistake  at  one-and-twenty.  We  were 
one-and-twenty  ourselves  once,  you  and  I — though  it's 
a  long  time  since  ;  and  were  the  girls  we  then  thought 
we  could  never  be  happy  without  the  same  as  those 
with  whom  we  finally  decided  upon  passing  a  mundane 
existence  together  ?  I  trow  not,  if  I  recollect  it  aright ; 
our  hearts  got  broken — and  very  decently  mended 
again — some  half  dozen  times  before  we  were  thirty. 

Well,  the  night  before  Philip  left  London  he  spent 
at  the  Oswald's,  as  in  duty  bound  ;  and  even  that  stern- 
est of  chaperons,  little  Aggie's  mamma,  under  those 
special  circumstances,  left  them  alone  in  the  drawing- 
room  for  a  couple  of  hours  of  agonized  leave-taking. 
Philip  was  particularly  certain  as  to  their  plans  for  the 
future. 

"I  shall  save  up  every  anna,  Aggie,"  he  said — he 
spoke  of  annas  familiarly,  instead  of  speaking  of  far- 
things, in  order  to  give  a  touch  of  local  color,  and  to 
prove  his  minute  acquaintance  with  that  India  he  had 
never  yet  seen — **  I  shall  save  up  every  anna,  Aggie, 
till  I'm  able  to  send  home  for  you  to  come  out  and 


CRIS-CROSS   LOVE.       ,  2/ 

marry  me ;  and  when  I've  got  enough  to  do  it,  you'll 
fly  across  the  sea  to  me  like  a  swallow  flying  home — 
won't  you,  my  darling?" 

Aggie  laid  the  fluffy  head  very  trustingly  on  the 
future  Viceroy's  shoulder ;  she  knew  he  would  never 
stop  till  he  was  at  least  a  Viceroy. 

"  Of  course  I'll  come  to  you,  dearest,"  she  answered. 
"  I  shall  count  every  minute  of  the  time  till  you  send 
for  me.  But  will  it  be  very,  very  long,  do  you  think  ? 
How  soon  do  you  suppose  you'll  be  in  a  position  to 
marry,  Phil  ?" 

Phil  stroked  his  struggling  mustache  (you  could  see 
it  distinctly  with  a  powerful  pocket-lens)  and  assumed 
an  air  of  adult  and  manly  wisdom. 

"  Oh,  not  so  very  long,  Aggie,"  he  replied,  quite 
airily,  "  five  or  six  years  at  the  outside,  I  expect.  I 
mean  to  get  on,  and  to  save  every  anna." 

Not  for  worlds  would  he  have  consented  to  state 
the  fact  on  such  a  night  as  that  in  mere  commonplace 
pennies. 

Aggie's  cherry-red  mouth  pursed  itself  up  into  some- 
thing very  like  a  pretty  little  pout, — only  much  more 
alluring. 

"  Five  or  six  years  !"  she  cried,  alarmed.  "  That's 
an  awfully  long  time,  Phil !  I  wish  it  wasn't  so  long. 
I  can't  bear  to  do  without  you." 

**  But  you  can  wait  for  me,  darling,"  Phil  cried,  with 
a  loving  look  into  those  liquid  hazel  eyes,  "  You  can 
wait  for  me,  can't  you  ?  Only  five  or  six  years  !  And 
I  would  wait  an  eternity  for  you." 

I  may  observe  in  passing,  he  was  very  much  in  love 
with  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I   can   wait   for  you,"  Aggie  answered, 


aS  STRANGE  STORIES. 

drying  her  eyes  the  twentieth  time.  "  A  hundred 
years,  if  necessary.  I  never  can  love  anybody  else  in 
the  world  but  you.  It  isn't  that  so  much.  It's  the 
time  while  I'm  waiting.  You  don't  know  how  dread- 
ful it  is  for  me  to  have  to  do  one  day  without  you  !" 

And  so,  with  many  genuine  tears,  and  many  loving 
protestations — all  true  as  steel  at  the  time — that  even- 
ing wore  away,  and  Phil  took  his  departure.  Next 
morning,  he  left  by  the  overland  mail,  via  Brindisi. 
Aggie  saw  him  off,  dissolved  in  tears,  at  Charing  Cross 
Station,  and  was  left  behind  sobbing.  For  many 
nights  after  she  cried  herself  to  sleep.  You  may  laugh 
at  her,  if  you  like — you  who  hold  the  young  palpita- 
ting human  heart  a  fit  object  for  your  gentle  middle- 
aged  sarcasm — as  for  me,  I  can  not.  At  eighteen 
which  was  then  exactly  Aggie  Oswald's  age,  the  loss 
of  a  lover,  gone  to  India  for  six  years,  is  a  serious 
matter.  There  are  of  us  in  the  forties  who  feel  these 
things  still.  Let  a  girl  in  her  teens  have  our  sincerest 
sympathy. 


II. 

Five  years  rolled  on,  and  Phil  Oilman  prospered. 
He  wasn't  quite  a  Viceroy,  to  be  sure,  but  he  was  a 
Deputy  Collector.  Not  a  man  in  the  Deccan  got  on 
better  than  he  did.  His  Excellency  was  pleased  more 
than  once  in  that  short  time  to  promote  Mr.  Philip 
Oilman  to  successive  posts  in  successively  dreary  up- 
country  districts.  Phil  saved  and  scraped,  and  all  for 
Aggie.  At  the  end  of  five  years,  with  his  own  little 
income,  and  his  rising  pay,  he  began  to  feel  himself  in 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  29 

a  position  to  think  about  marrying.  He  would  send 
home  for  Aggie,  now,  and  ask  her  to  come  out  to  him. 
He  could  redeem  that  long-standing  pledge,  and  make 
himself,  and  her,  happy. 

Five  years  had  rolled  on  ;  but  they  had  rolled  on 
(as  observant  souls  may  often  note  to  be  the  case)  by 
one  day  at  a  time,  through  twelve  months  of  each 
year,  with  long,  slow  regularity.  Now,  all  those 
months,  Phil  Oilman  had  written  by  every  mail  to 
Aggie ;  and  by  every  mail  he  had  heard  in  return 
from  Aggie  again.  At  first  he  had  sat  down  to  write 
each  time  with  ardent  affection  ;  he  had  torn  open 
Aggie's  letters,  when  they  f'ame,  with  eager  expect- 
ancy. But  as  months  passed  by,  and  he  never  saw 
Aggie,  this  first  flush  of  young  love  began  to  die 
away  imperceptibly,  until  at  last,  almost  without 
knowing  it  himself,  he  sat  do\/n  so  many  times  a  week 
to  write  his  budget  as  a  pure  matter  of  duty.  Some- 
times it  rather  worried  him  to  have  to  find  something 
fresh  to  say  to  Aggie  ;  he  wrote,  not  so  much  because 
he  wanted  to  write,  as  because  he  knew  Aggie  would 
be  disappointed  not  to  get  a  letter.  And  so  she  would 
have  been,  indeed  ;  she  would  have  cried  very  bitterly 
that  Phil  should  have  neglected  her.  Phil  was  always 
so  punctual ;  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  de- 
lay ?  Was  it  possible  that  Phil,  her  dear  Phil,  was 
forgetting  her. 

There's  a  vast  deal  of  difference,  however,  between 
twenty-one  and  twenty-six.  For  those  five  long  years 
Phil  had  saved  every  penny  (he  said  penny  quite 
naturally  now,  annas  having  grown  only  too  common 
and  unclean  to  him) ;  and  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
when  he  began  to  think  to  himself  he  might  now  send 


30  STRANGE  STORIES. 

home  for  his  beloved  Aggie — why,  a  strange  sort  of 
discovery  broke  suddenly  over  him.  Great  heavens  ! 
what  was  this  ?  Was  he  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  ? 
Did  he  hail  with  effusion  the  advent  of  that  long-wished 
for,  that  much-desired,  day  ?  Was  he  half  mad  with 
delight,  half  wild  with  expectancy  ?  If  the  truth  must 
be  told — oh,  dear  me,  not  a  bit  of  it !  It  occurred  to  him 
all  at  once  that  for  the  last  two  years,  or  thereabouts, 
he  had  been  saving  and  writing — not  for  pure,  pure 
love,  but  by  mere  force  of  habit.  The  original  flame 
had  died  down  ;  the  original  impulse  had  worn  itself 
out ;  and  now,  in  their  place,  strange  critical  doubts 
and  fears  obtruded  all  unawares  their  unwelcome 
faces. 

Did  he  really  love  Aggie  quite  as  well  as  he  used  to 
do  ?  Did  Aggie  really  love  him  quite  as  well  as  she 
once  said  she  did  ?  Had  they  two  changed  much  in 
those  five  years  of  absence  ?  Would  Aggie's  fluffy 
hair  be  quite  as  entrancing  and  as  errant  as  ever? 
Would  Aggie's  simplicity  be  as  engaging  as  of  old  ? 
Or,  again,  let  him  see  ;  she  was  eighteen  then ;  would 
there  be  any  simplicity  left  at  all  at  twenty-three,  he 
wondered  ?  Looking  at  the  matter  philosophically 
(and  Indian  Civil  servants  are  ex-officio  philosophers 
— it's  part  of  the  examination),  he  saw  for  himself  they 
were  both  five  years  older,  and  five  years  might  have 
made  a  deal  of  difference  to  both  of  them.  Each 
might  have  developed,  and  each  might  now  take  a 
fresh  view  of  the  situation  and  of  the  other.  Objec- 
tively, Aggie  might  be  somebody  else  ;  subjectively, 
he  himself  might  think  quite  diversely  of  her.  Now, 
when  a  man  begins  to  talk  of  object  and  subject  in 
these   matters  at  all,  you  may  be  perfectly  sure  the 


CKIS-CROSS  LOVE.  3 1 

fine  flush  of  love's  young  dream  is  pretty  well  over 
with  him.  We  certainly  don't  philosophize  in  the  first 
full  rapture.  Phil  Oilman  realized  all  at  once  that 
love's  young  dream  was  well  over  with  himself ;  he 
was  aware  that  the  idea  of  Aggie's  arrival  in  India 
awakened  within  him,  not  transports,  nor  even  calm 
joy,  but  a  certain  languid  curiosity  as  to  what  she 
would  look  like,  and  how  he  would  feel  to  her. 

Nevertheless,  mind  you,  Phil  Oilman  was  a  man  of 
honor.  He  stuck  to  his  guns.  He  hadn't  the  slight- 
est idea  of  going  back  upon  his  word,  or  even  of  let- 
ting poor  Aggie  herself  doubt  the  depth  of  his  affec- 
tion for  her.  Perhaps  this  was  wrong — who  knows? 
Perhaps  the  wisest  thing  after  all,  for  a  man  to  do  in 
such  a  case,  is  just  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  rather 
than  involve  himself  and  the  girl  he  once  loved,  in  a 
marriage  that  may  prove  unhappy  for  both  of  them. 
But  at  any  rate,  Phil  Oilman  didn't  think  so,  and 
somehow,  do  you  know,  I  feel  as  if  any  man  of  honor, 
in  Phil  Oilman's  place,  would  have  acted  just  as  he  did. 
There's  something  so  horribly  cold-blooded  in  telling 
a  girl  who  has  waited  five  years  for  you,  you  really 
don't  know  whether  you  love  her  any  longer  or  not, 
that  only  a  very  brutal  man,  I  fancy,  could  ever  con- 
sent to  do  it.  It  may  be  wise  to  act  like  that,  no 
doubt ;  but  there  are  qualities,  after  all,  more  to  be 
prized  than  wisdom.  I  wouldn't  give  twopence  my- 
self, dear  friends,  for  a  young  man  so  wise  as  all  that 
comes  to. 

So,  after  a  brief  mental  struggle,  Phil  wrote  to 
Aggie,  as  impassioned  a  letter  as  he  could  easily  pump 
out — best  epistolary  fashion — to  say  that  now  at  last 
the  desire  of  their  hearts  for  so  many  years  was  to  be 


32  STRANGE  STORIES. 

fully  gratified,  and  they  two  were  to  meet  once  more 
and  be  happy  forever.  To  be  sure,  when  the  letter 
was  finished,  Phil  read  it  over  once  or  twice,  leaning 
back  in  his  bungalow  lounge,  with  a  critically  dissatis- 
fied air  ;  its  ardor  seemed  rather  wanting  in  spontane- 
ity, he  fancied  ;  it  had  no  longer  the  genuine  impas- 
sioned ring  of  four  or  five  years  ago.  But  what  would 
you  have?  If  one  can't  quite  rise  to  the  height  of 
such  an  occasion,  of  one's  own  mere  motion,  one  must 
try  to  gush  gently,  for  the  lady's  sake  alone,  with  liter- 
ary aptitude.  A  man  would  be  hardly  a  whole  man, 
Phil  supposed,  if  he  consented  to  let  a  woman  see  he 
had  begun  to  forget  her. 

However,  what  the  letter  lacked  in  lover-like  ardor, 
it  fully  made  up  in  business-like  definiteness.  The 
Oswalds  were  poor  ;  they  could  hardly  have  afforded 
to  send  Aggie  out  to  him.  So  Phil  had  arranged  for 
all  that — arranged  for  it  generously.  He  inclosed  a 
check  for  a  most  substantial  amount.  He  hoped  it 
would  suffice  to  pay  Aggie's  passage,  and  begged  to 
be  permitted  to  set  her  up  in  a  proper  Indian  outfit. 
She  was  to  meet  him  in  Bombay,  where  she  could  stop 
at  the  house  of  a  common  friend  (I  daren't  say  "mu- 
tual," a  much  more  sensible  word,  between  you  and 
me,  because  some  silly,  superfine  people  raise  micros- 
copic etymological  objections)  ;  and  there  she  was  to 
be  married  a  day  or  two  after  landing.  Phil  flattered 
himself  that  his  check  was  a  tolerably  expansive  one. 
If  he  didn't  love  Aggie  quite  as  devotedly  as  he  used 
to  do,  at  least  she  should  never  discover  the  change  by 
pecuniary  symptoms. 

Now,  strange  to  say,  when  Aggie  Oswald  received 
that  letter,  though  she   broke  it  open  all  of  a  flutter 


CRIS-CROSS   LOVE.  33 

to  see  whether  Phil  wanted  her  to  come  out  to  him  at 
last,  she  felt  hardly  so  much  delighted  with  the  news 
it  contained  as  she  knew  she  ought  to  be.  On  the 
contrary,  she  took  it  down  to  her  mother,  half-crying. 

**  What  is  it,  darling  ?"  her  mother  asked. 

And  Aggie,  trembling  violently,  handed  it  to  her  to 
read.  When  her  mother  had  read  it,  Aggie  laid  that 
fluffy  head  on  her  shoulder  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  Now  it  comes  to  the  pinch,  mother,"  she  said, 
quivering,  **  it  seems  so  hard  to  go ;  so  hard  to  leave 
you  and  sail  alone  so  far  across  the  sea.  Five  years 
ago  it  didn't.  You  see,  it's  so  long  since  I  saw  dear 
Phil — he  seems  almost  like  a  stranger.  I  can't  bear  to 
think  I've  got  to  leave  you  all,  and  go  away  five  thou- 
sand miles  to  a  stranger — even  though  I  love  him.  He 
may  be  so  awfully  changed,  you  know.  His  photo- 
graph's quite  altered.  And  he  may  think  me  so  dif- 
ferent now  from  his  own  ideal  of  me." 

Her  mother  gazed  at  her  in  speechless  surprise. 
Five  years  are  not  nearly  so  long  at  sixty  as  at  three- 
and-twenty. 

**  But  surely,  Aggie,"  she  said,  "  you  wouldn't  be  so 
ungrateful  to  our  dear  Phil  as  to  throw  him  over  now, 
and  refuse  to  go  out  to  him, — he  who's  been  true  to 
you  so  long  and  behaved  so  generously !  It  would 
break  his  heart,  poor  fellow  !  It  would  just  break  his 
heart  for  him  !  Think  of  him  there  !  toiling  and  moil- 
ing, and  saving  and  scraping,  out  in  India  so  long,  and 
dreaming  of  you  all  the  while,  and  writing  every  mail 
to  you !  Why,  Aggie,  what  can  you  mean  ?  You 
could  never  refuse  him." 

"  Refuse  him  !  Oh,  dear  no,  mother,"  Aggie  fal- 
tered out,  quite  shocked,  herself,  at  the  bare  suggestion. 


34  STRANGE  storip:s. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  meant — I  only  meant  I  didn't 
feel  quite  so  glad,  now  it's  actually  come,  as — I  always 
used  to  think  I  should.  I  begin  to  wonder  now  what 
Phil  will  be  like,  after  five  years*  absence.  I've  pic- 
tured him  to  myself  just  as  he  was  when  we  saw  him 
last.  I'm  trying  to  picture  him  now  as  five  years  will 
have  made  him." 

Mrs.  Oswald  gave  a  sigh  of  distinct  relief.  It  would 
really  have  been  terrible  if  Aggie  had  lost  five  years  of 
her  life — and  the  best  years,  too — on  this  clever  young 
fellow  in  the  Indian  Civil,  and  then  thrown  him  over- 
board. At  twenty-three,  after  such  a  long  engage- 
ment, her  chances  of  placing  herself  would  be  seriously 
impaired.  And  though  she  had  other  opportunities, 
and  was  made  much  of  everywhere,  yet  Philip  was 
really  a  very  eligible  young  man — and  a  Deputy  Col- 
lector !  Mrs.  Oswald  set  herself  forthwith  to  check, 
by  every  means  she  knew,  these  vague  misgivings. 
Aggie  must  not  be  encouraged  in  her  doubts  about 
Phil.  She  must  be  made  to  feel  she  was  in  honor 
bound  to  go  out  and  marry  him. 


III. 


While  he  waited  for  his  answer  at  his  up-country 
station,  Phil  Gilman  himself  half  hoped  Aggie  might 
by  this  time  see  things  in  the  same  light  as  he  did ; 
she  might  perhaps  be  willing  to  release  him  from  an 
engagement  which  had  ceased  to  be  a  reality  to  either 
of  them.  No  doubt  she  too  had  changed  a  great  deal, 
meanwhile;  and  there  Phil  was  quite  right ;  Aggie 
had  deepened  and  broadened  from  a  girl  into  a  wo- 


ft 


CRISCROSS  LOVE.  35 

man.  She  was  no  longer  the  mere  light-hearted,  fluf- 
fy-headed coquette,  leading  a  butterfly  existence  in 
Bayswater  ballrooms.  Pretty  and  rosy-cheeked  and 
cherry-lipped  as  of  yore,  she  had  developed  mean- 
while three  additional  features — a  mind,  and  a  will,  and 
a  decided  conscience. 

These  very  acquisitions,  however,  further  strength- 
ened as  they  were  by  her  mother's  exhortations,  led 
Aggie  to  sacrifice  herself,  a  modern  Iphigenia,  on  the 
altar  of  duty,  and  to  write  Phil  Gilman  a  letter  in  re- 
turn, all  replete  with  ardent  expressions  of  delight  and 
constancy.  It  was  a  letter  to  thrill  a  lover's  heart 
with  joy.  Phil  Gilman  read  it  with  very  modified  rap- 
ture. Not  that  he  was  quite  sure  he  wasn't  in  love 
with  Aggie  even  now.  Till  he  saw  her,  how  could  he 
say?  He  might  be,  and  he  mightn't.  He  had  been 
in  love  with  the  Aggie  he  had  left  behind  ;  he  would 
perhaps  be  in  love  with  the  Aggie  who  was  coming 
out  to  him.  But  after  five  long  years — and  at  twenty- 
three,  too — you  must  confess  it's  a  lottery.  So  he 
waited  in  no  small-tremor  of  doubt  and  misgiving. 
What  a  terrible  thing  if  he  had  to  tie  himself  for  life,  out 
of  pure  chivalry,  and  to  prevent  disappointing  her,  to 
a  tangled  mass  of  fluffy  brown  hair,  with  nothing  else 
in  particular  on  earth  to  recommend  it! 

When  a  man  thinks  like  that,  you  may  be  tolerably 
sure  his  affections  have  somehow  declined  a  trifle  from 
their  youthful  ardor. 

However,  Phil  put  the  best  face  upon  it,  like  a  gen- 
tleman, and  waited  with  outer  calm  at  his  up-country 
station.  He  waited  a  week  ;  then,  reflecting  that  he 
must  meet  his  bride  at  Bombay,  he  applied  for  a 
month's  leave,  in  the  time-honored  way,  "  on  urgent 


;36  STRANGE  STORIES. 

private  business."  His  Excellency  was  pleased  to 
grant  the  request ;  and  Phil  Gilman  went  down  to 
Bombay  accordingly,  much  trembling  in  soul,  to  meet 
his  Aggie. 

Of  course  he  couldn't  go  to  the  house  of  the  friend 
with  whom  Aggie  was  to  stop  in  the  short  interval 
between  her  arrival  and  her  marriage  ;  so  he  put  up 
with  another  acquaintance  of  official  distinction — a  man 
who  had  been  his  superior  officer  at  his  first  country 
station.  His  host  was  Sir  Edward  Moulton  now,  and 
a  K.C.S.I.,  and  a  member  of  Council ;  you  must  have 
been  in  India  yourself  in  order  fully  to  appreciate  the 
exalted  dignity  of  a  member  of  Council.  He  lived  in 
a  very  fine  house  on  Malabar  Hill,  with  a  very  fine 
view  of  the  sea  and  the  city ;  and  was  supposed  to 
keep  the  very  best  horses,  to  drink  the  very  best  wine, 
and  to  give  the  very  best  dinners  in  the  whole  Presi- 
dency. 

When  Phil  Gilman  arrived  at  Sir  Edward's  door, 
half  an  inch  deep  in  generous  dust  from  the  lavish 
hospitality  of  the  Great  Indian  Peninsular  Railway  (a 
line  which  endows  every  traveller  free  of  charge  with  a 
small  landed  estate  to  carry  away  home  with  him),  he 
was  met  on  the  threshold  by  a  dream  of  beauty  in  a 
loose  white  dress  which  fairly  took  his  breath  away. 
The  dream  of  beauty  was  tall  and  dark,  a  lovely 
woman  of  that  riper  and  truer  loveliness  that  only 
declares  itself  as  character  develops.  Her  features 
were  clear-cut  and  delicate  and  regular  ;  her  eyes  large 
and  lustrous;  her  lips  not  too  thin,  but  rich  and  tempt- 
ing ;  her  brow  was  high,  and  surmounted  by  a  luscious 
wealth  of  glossy  black  hair,  which  Phil  never  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  equaled  before  for  its  silkiness  of 


> 


CRIS-CROSS   LOVE.  37 

texture  and  its  strange  blue  sheen,  like  steel,  or  the 
grass  of  the  prairies.  A  queenly  grace  distinguished 
her  mien.  Her  motion  was  equable.  As  once  the 
sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men  that  they  were 
fair,  and  straightway  coveted  them,  even  so  Philip  Gil- 
man  looked  at  that  dignified  stranger,  and  saw  at  the 
first  glance  she  was  a  woman  to  be  loved,  a  soul  high- 
throned,  very  calm  and  beautiful.  * 

There  was  much  excuse  for  him.  He  had  been  liv- 
ing for  three  years  in  an  up-country  station,  where  he 
had  never  once  seen  a  real  live  white  woman ;  and 
under  such  circumstances  the  mere  sight  of  one's 
fellow-countrywomen  (believe  one  who  has  tried),  is  a 
delight  and  a  joy  to  one.  And  then,  she  was  so  beau- 
tiful, with  such  a  high  type  of  intellectual  beauty  ;  no 
mere  fluffy-haired  schoolgirl  with  red  cheeks  and  lips, 
but  a  genuine  woman,  with  soul  in  her  face,  and  a  per- 
vading sense  of  grace  and  dignity  in  all  her  movements. 
When  she  stepped  forward  and  smiled  and  held  out 
her  hand  to  him,  Phil's  heart  sank  instantly.  To  think 
that  in  a  world  which  incloses  such  infinite  possibilities 
as  these,  he  should  have  tied  himself  down  blindfold — 
for  it  was  really  blindfold — to  fifty-five  years  of  pretty 
Aggie  Oswald  ! 

The  vision  of  beauty  stepped  forward,  and  held  out 
one  frank  hand. 

*'  Mr.  Gilman  ?"  she  said,  inquiringly.  "Ah,  yes,  I 
thought  so.  My  uncle's  so  sorry,  but  he  had  to  go 
out,  and  he  asked  me  to  receive  you.  You've  heard 
my  name,  I  dare  say;  I'm  his  niece — Miss  Trevel- 
yan." 

Phil  accepted  the  proffered  hand  with  some  slight 
misgivings — he  was   so  very  dusty;   and  I  blush    to 


38  STRANGE   STORIES. 

write  it,  but  something  much  like  a  little  thrill  of 
delight  ran  through  him  at  touch  of  her  slender 
fingers.  If  poor  Aggie  (at  Port  Said)  could  have 
seen  her  lover  just  that  moment,  she  would  have 
turned  back  that  very  day  and  returned  by  the 
homeward-bound  mail  to  London.  Though,  to  be 
sure,  poor  Aggie  herself  was  that  moment  engaged 
in  a  very  desperate  and  heartfelt  flirtation  with — 
but  I  will  not  anticipate. 

Phil  looked  down  at  his  coat,  and  stammered  out 
feebly  some  'narticulate  apology. 

"  I'm  really  not  fit  for  lady's  society,"  he  mur- 
mured, with  a  glance  at  the  landed  estate;  "from 
Poonah  here  is  so  terribly  dusty  !" 

Freda  Trevelyan  smiled.  "  Oh,  we've  all  done  it 
ourselves,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  came  from  Poonah  last 
week,  so  I  know  how  to  sympathize  with  you.  One 
feels  as  if  the  Indian  Ocean  didn't  hold  enough 
water  ever  to  wash  one  quite  clean  again.  I  won't 
ask  you  into  the  drawing-room  now  and  keep  you 
sitting  there  in  discomfort.  You'd  better  go  up  to 
your  own  room  at  once  ;  and  as  soon  as  you've  got 
rid  of  the  first  few  layers,  a  cup  of  tea'll  be  ready 
down  here  for  you." 

She  said  it  with  a  friendly  smile  that  was  the 
warmest  of  welcomes.  Phil  tumbled  upstairs  as  best 
he  could,  and  opened  his  portmanteau.  He  was  a 
good-looking  fellow,  with  a  most  manly  mustache  ; 
and  I  am  bound  to  admit  he  took  more  pains  over 
his  dressing  that  evening  than  was  strictly  necessary, 
or  indeed  desirable  in  Aggie's  interest.  He  endued 
himself  with  care  in  his  best  afternoon  coat,  and  his 
newest    irnported    European    tie,   and    he    surveyed 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  39 

himself  approvingly  in  the  glass  before  he  descended 
with  slow  steps  to  the  drawing-room.  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  V/hat  an  engaged  young  man  could  mean 
by  taking  so  much  pains  over  his  personal  appearance  ; 
he  could  certainly  have  taken  no  more  if  it  was  Aggie 
herself,  not  a  strange  young  lady,  who  awaited  him  in 
the  drawing-room. 

When  he  went  down,  he  found  Freda  Trevelyan 
already  seated  before  a  most  hospitable  teapot.  You 
must  have  lived  in  a  hot  climate  at  least  once  in  your 
life  in  order  thoroughly  to  appreciate  tne  art  of  tea- 
drinking.  One  would  say  beforehand  that  nobody 
would  care  for  hot  drinks  with  the  thermometer  at 
ninety.  Experience  proves  the  exact  contrary.  The 
hotter  the  weather  gets,  the  more  hot  tea  does  human- 
ity absorb,  and  the  better  does  it  love  it.  Phil  threw 
himself  into  an  easy-chair,  and  looked,  if  not  engaged, 
at  least  engaging.  He  was  considered  the  handsomest 
man  on  the  Boolanuggur  hills  ;  and  he  certainly  looked 
it  that  afternoon.  There's  nothing  to  make  a  man 
look  and  talk  his  best  like  a  pretty  woman.  It  was 
what  is  euphemistically  described  as  "  the  cool  season  " 
at  Bombay,  and  the  windows  of  the  veranda  were 
flung  wide  open.  The  view  over  the  sea  was  beautiful 
and  refreshing.  Phil  could  even  hear  the  gentle  plash 
of  the  waves  on  Malabar  Point  ;  and  though  that 
deceptive  surf  is  by  no  means  so  cool  as  it  looks  and 
sounds,  yet  it  was  delightful  to  his  ear  after  three  long 
years  spent  away  far  inland  He  enjoyed  that  after- 
noon more  than  he  had  ever  enjoyed  anything  for 
months  and  months.  Poor  Aggie's  chances  of  a  whole 
lover's  heart  seemed  to  fade  and  pale  at  each  succes- 
sive half  hour. 


40  STRANGE  STORIES. 

For  Miss  Trevelyan,  it  seemed,  was  simply  charm- 
ing. She  talked  so  admirably.  And  besides  she  was 
so  frank.  She  had  heard  beforehand,  of  course,  that 
Phil  had  come  down  to  Bombay  to  meet  his  future 
bride  ;  and  when  a  woman  knows  a  man's  already 
monopolized,  she  treats  him  as  if  he  were  married  ; 
that  is  to  say,  she  talks  to  him  like  a  rational  creature, 
and  not  like  an  animal  specially  created  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  flirtation.  The  consequence  was  that 
before  half  an  hour  was  over,  Freda  Trevelyan  and 
Phil  Oilman  were  laughing  and  chatting  together  as  if 
they'd  known  one  another  for  half  their  lives  instead 
of  for  just  about  thirty  minutes. 

"And  your  bride's  coming  out  on  the  Indus?" 
Freda  said,  after  one  short  pause.  "  How  soon  do 
you  expect  her?" 

"  She  was  telegraphed  from  Port  Said  this  morn- 
ing," Phil  answered,  with  a  consciousness  of  profound 
hypocrisy,  for  he  felt  the  subject  was  really  far  more 
interesting  to  Miss  Trevelyan  than  he  himself  could 
pretend  to  find  it. 

"  How  anxious  you  must  be  for  the  steamer  to 
come  in!"  Freda  exclaimed,  with  fervor.  "I'm  so 
glad  you  came  here.  It's  so  nice  to  feel  you  must  both 
be  so  happy." 

"  Oh,  very  nice  indeed,"  Phil  answered,  hesitating. 

"  Have  you  her  photograph  ?"  Freda  put  in.  "  I 
should  so  much  like  to  see  her." 

"  Yes,  I've  got  it  upstairs — in  my  portmanteau,  some- 
where," Phil  answered,  unconcernedly.  "  I'll  bring  it 
down  when  I  go  up.  It's  so  awfully  kind  of  you  to 
want  to  see  her." 

"  Upstairs  in  your  portmanteau  !'*  Freda  cried,  smii- 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  41 

ing  astonishment.  **  Not  in  your  breast  pocket !  And 
to  be  married  in  a  fortnight.  Oh,  Mr.  Oilman,  that 
would  never  do  for  me!  Tm  afraid  you're  a  terribly 
lukewarm  lover  !" 

"  Oh,  not  lukewarm,  I  hope,"  Phil  interposed,  with 
an  answering  smile.  "Only  you  see  it's  like  this — 
we've  been  engaged  five  years,  and  a  little  bit  more, 
and  by  the  end  of  that  time  one  begins  to  get — well, 
calmer  and  more  philosophic." 

Freda  shook  her  beautiful  head. 

**  That  won't  do,"  she  answered  again.  "  I  hope  my 
lover,  if  I  ever  get  one,  won't  talk  like  that.  I  never 
could  stand  it.  I  shall  require  him  to  be  desperately, 
wildly  in  love  with  me  !  If  he  tries  to  be  philosophic, 
why,  he'll  have  to  go  elsewhere  !" 

Phil  was  just  on  the  point  of  answering,  "  Ah,  but  if 
a  man  was  in  love  with  you,  that  would  be  altogether 
different ;"  but  politeness,  to  say  the  truth,  rather  than 
loyalty  to  Aggie,  prevented  him  from  voicing  the 
thought  that  was  in  him. 

**  Besides,"  Freda  went  on,  "  if  you  were  very  much 
in  love — at  least  as  I  count  it — you  wouldn't  have 
said  you'd  bring  her  photograph  down  when  you  next 
went  up.  You'd  have  rushed  up  for  it  at  once,  that 
very  moment,  and  exhibited  it  with  pride  and  joy  and 
confidence.  And  you  wouldn't  have  said  it  was  kind 
of  me  to  want  to  see  her.  You'd  have  taken  it  for 
granted  every  human  being  was  dying  to  behold  her 
beautiful  face,  and  you'd  have  considered  it  a  great 
favor  to  me  to  show  me  her  portrait." 

Phil  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 

"You're  quite  right,"  he  said,  frankly.  "That's  just 
how  I  felt — some  four  or  five  years  ago.     But  one  can't 


42  STRANGE  STORIES. 

keep  it  up  to   that  white   heat,  you   know — at   least 
not " 

"  At  least  not,  when  ?"  Freda  put  it,  as  he  hesitated. 

"  Well,  at  least  not  when  you  don't  see  the  girl  you 
love  for  iive  years  or  thereabouts,"  Phil  answered, 
with  rare  candor. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Oilman!"  Freda  cried.  "I'm  afraid 
you're  very  fickle  !" 

"  No ;  not  fickle,"  Phil  answered,  growing  hot  and 
red.  He  couldn't  bear  to  be  called  perfidious  by  such 
beautiful  lips.  He  couldn't  bear  such  lovely  eyes  to 
look  so  reproachfully  across  at  him.  Then  he  leant  for- 
ward gravely.  "  Miss  Trevelyan,"  he  said,  with  some 
earnestness,  "  you  miistn't  think  of  me  like  that.  I 
really  couldn't  bear  that  you  should  imagine  me  want- 
ing in  due — consideration  for  Aggie.  But  remember, 
we  were  young,  we  were  both  very  young,  when  I  went 
away  from  England.  Aggie  was  eighteen,  and  I  was 
one-and-twenty.  Naturally,  I  hardly  know  what  sort 
of  girl  she  may  have  grown  into  by  this  time.  Nat- 
urally, she  can  hardly  know  what  sort  of  man  she's 
going  to  marry."  He  paused  a  second  ;  then  he  spoke 
still  more  seriously.  "  At  the  time  we  both  loved  one 
another  dearly.  It  was  heart-rending  to  part.  If  we'd 
married  then  and  there,  we  should  no  doubt  have  gone 
on  loving  one  another  just  as  dearly  to  this  very  day. 
But  then,  we  should  have  seen  a  great  deal  meanwhile 
of  each  other.  As  it  is,  conceal  it  as  we  may  from  our- 
selves, we  must  meet  as  strangers.  My  first  anxiety 
will  be  to  see  what  kind  of  girl  has  come  out  to  marry 
me ;  Aggie's  first  anxiety  will  be  to  see  what  kind  of 
man  she  has  come  out  to  marry.  May  I  speak  to  you 
frankly — only  in  self-defense,  you  know,  and  to  repel 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  43 

» 

your  charge  of  fickleness  ?  Well^  till  the  moment  ar- 
rived when  I  could  send  home  for  Aggie,  my  one  feel- 
ing was  a  longing  to  be  able  to  marry  her.  I  looked 
at  her  photograph  day  and  night  with  a  distinct  rap- 
ture. I  looked  at  it  often.  It  gave  me  a  thrill  to  look 
at  it.  It  was  only  on  the  very  day  that  I  wrote  home 
to  ask  her  to  come  out  to  me  that  another  side  to  the 
question  first  occurred  to  me.  Then  I  thought  to  my- 
self, all  at  once,  It's  not  the  Aggie  of  to-day  I'm 
looking  forward  to  see  at  all,  but  the  Aggie  of  five 
years  ago.  What  reason  have  I  to  think  she  will  be  to 
me  now  at  all  the  same  person  ?  I  loved  the  girl  of 
eighteen  when  I  left  England  ;  and  if  that  girl  could 
come  out  to  me  now,  I  would  love  her  just  equally. 
But  how  do  I  know  I  shall  love  the  girl  of  twenty-three 
who  now  bears  the  same  name?  And  if  I  find  her 
altered  out  of  all  recognition,  what  a  terrible  thing  for 
her!  What  a  terrible  thing  for  me  !  What  a  blow  for 
both  of  us  !  How  appalling  to  feel  you're  marrying  a 
woman  you  don't  really  love.  How  appalling  for  her 
to  be  marrying  a  man  who  can't  really  love  her.  We're 
taking  one  another  now  in  the  dark,  put  the  best  face 
you  can  upon  it." 

"  You're  too  frightened,  Mr.  Oilman,"  Freda  an- 
swered with  that  charming  smile  of  hers.  "  The 
moment  you  see  her,  the  moment  she  sees  you,  all  your 
old  love  will  return  again  with  a  rush.  I'm  sure  it 
will,  because  I  can  see  you're  in  earnest.  You  think 
of  her  as  well  as  of  yourself;  and  with  you  men,  when- 
ever a  man  thinks  of  the  woman  as  well  as  of  himself, 
you  may  be  perfectly  sure  he's  a  really  good  fellow." 


44  STRANGE  STORIED. 


IV. 

At  Port  Said  meanwhile,  Aggie  was  sitting  on  deck 
with  that  delightful  young  man  who  came  on  board  at 
Brindisi.  He  was  tall  and  slight  and  had  a  straw- 
colored  mustache.  Aggie  had  always  had  a  sneaking 
fancy  for  straw  color.  And  besides  he  was  a  soldier, 
and  aide-de-camp  to  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of 
Somewhere-Up-Country.  (Aggie's  Indian  geography 
was  as  deliciously  vague  as  an  Indian  secretary's  ;  and 
"  somewhere-up-country  "  was  about  as  definite  to  her 
as  any  particular  name  of  any  particular  district.  She 
regarded  all  India,  indeed,  as  naturally  divided  into 
two  main  parts:  the  part  where  Phil  was  stationed, 
and  the  part  where  he  wasn't.  Further  than  that  she 
never  tried  to  go.  When  people  on  board  talked  to 
her  glibly  of  the  Punjaub  or  the  Central  Provinces, 
Saharanpur  or  Moozuffernugger,  she  nodded  and 
smiled  benign  acquiescence,  glossing  over  her  ignor- 
ance with  the  charm  of  her  manner.) 

Aggie  and  the  handsome  young  man  got  on  together 
admirably.  He  was  a  certain  Captain  Angus  Stuart 
— conjectured  from  his  name  to  be  of  Scotch  extrac- 
tion ;  and  he  had  fallen  a  victim  to  Aggie's  fluffy  hair 
the  very  first  moment  he  ever  set  eyes  on  her.  Indeed, 
he  had  talked  to  her  for  half  an  hour  on  deck  in  Brin- 
disi harbor,  and  been  desolated  to  learn  by  that  time 
that  she  was  not  only  engaged  but  actually  going  out 
to  India  to  get  married.  Nay,  he  even  reflected  with 
a  certain  bland  pleasure,  at  that  early  stage  of  their 
brief  acquaintance,  that  there's  many  a  slip  'twixt  the 


/, '.  '.• 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  '  v  4$ 

cup  and  the  lip,  and  that  people  who  go  out  to  India 
to  get  married  don't  always  persevere  in  their  prime 
intention  when  they  see  their  beloved  in  his  Indian 
avatar.  Had  it  not  been  for  that  slight  hope,  Captain 
Stuart  would  have  avoided  talking  to  Aggie  altogether; 
for  being  a  Scotchman,  he  was  of  course  both  prudent 
and  superstitious;  and  he  felt  the  very  instant  he  be- 
gan to  talk  to  her  that  here  at  last  was  his  undoubted 
Affinity. 

If  you  have  ever  lain  at  anchor  in  Brindisi  harbor, 
or  ever  made  a  trip  from  thence  by  P.  and  O.  to  Port 
Said,  you  will  be  well  aware  that  there's  nothing  for  a 
sensible  man  to  do  with  his  time  as  he  skirts  the  shadowy 
coast  of  Crete,  but  to  make  love  to  some  fit  and  proper 
person.  Now  Angus  Stuart  was  a  most  sensible  man; 
and  though  he  had  too  great  a  respect  for  vested  in- 
terests exactly  to  make  love  to  another  fellow's  affi- 
anced bride  on  her  way  out  to  Bombay  to  join  her 
future  husband,  yet  it  must  be  candidly  admitted  by 
an  impartial  historian  that  he  sailed  very  close  to  the 
wind  indeed  in  that  respect,  and  made  himself  remark- 
ably agreeable  to  Aggie.  She  had  a  chaperon,  of 
course  ;  no  well-conducted  young  woman  could  trust 
herself  to  the  Mediterranean  and  the  Indian  Ocean 
without  the  services  of  a  chaperon  ;  but  what's  the  use 
of  that  indispensable  article  in  every  young  lady's 
wardrobe,  I  venture  to  ask,  if  it  persists  in  being  sea- 
sick and  sticking  to  its  berth  the  whole  way  out  from 
London  to  Aden  ?  The  consequence  was  that  Aggie 
and  Captain  Stuart  were  thrown  a  great  deal  together 
during  the  course  of  their  voyage.  When  Aggie  sang 
to  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  piano  in  the  big  saloon, 
it  was  Angus  Stuart  who  turned  over  the  leaves  of  her 


46  STRANGE  STORIES. 

music  book  ;  when  Aggie  sat  on  deck  and  declined 
lunch  with  thanks,  for  pressing  reasons,  it  was  Angus 
Stuart  who  brought  her  up  the  unsugared  lemonade 
and  one  dry  biscuit  which  alone  appealed  to  her  mari- 
time appetite.  Old  ladies  on  board  remarked  with 
malicious  glee  what  a  pity  it  was  poor  dear  Mrs. 
Mackinnon  wasn't  well  enough  to  come  up  and  look 
after  her  charge ;  old  gentlemen  observed  with  a  know- 
ing smile  that  Miss  Oswald  was  going  out  to  be  married 
at  Bombay — but  they  rather  imagined  she'd  mistaken 
the  bridegroom. 

Aggie  and  Angus  Stuart,  however,  went  on  happily 
unconscious  of  the  unkind  remarks  whispered  about 
them  in  confidence  in  the  saloon  at  night  when  they 
two  were  engaged  in  admiring  on  deck  the  phosphor- 
escence on  the  waves,  or  the  very  singular  brilliancy 
of  the  tropical  moonlight. 

On  one  such  evening,  in  the  Red  Sea,  they  stood 
together  by  the  taffrail  with  one  accord,  and  looked 
over  in  unison  into  the  deep  white  water.  There  was 
silence  for  a  while  ;  then  Stuart  spoke  abruptly. 

"  You  haven't  seen  him  for  five  years,"  he  said,  medi- 
tatively, without  anything  special  to  indicate  the  per- 
sonality of  the  him  in  question.  *"  That's  a  very  long 
time  you  know.  Miss  Oswald.  At  your  age  and  his,  in 
five  years  people  often  alter  wonderfully."  (Being 
himself,  just  thirty,  and  square  built  at  that,  Angus 
Stuart  affected  always  to  speak  to  Aggie  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  grandfather.) 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not !"  Aggie  cried,  fervently,  with  a 
little  shudder  of  alarm,  for  to  say  the  truth,  her  new 
friend  had  just  voiced  the  very  terror  that  was  perpet- 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  47 

ually  consuming  her.     "  It's  only  five  years,  you  know, 
and  we  were  awfully  fond  of  each  other!" 

"  *  Were,'  "  Angus  Stuart  answered  with  a  quiet 
smile.  "  You  say  '  were  '  yourself.  That  doesn't 
quite  look  as  if  you  were  desperately  in  love  with  him 
just  at  present,  does  it  ?"  And  he  smiled  at  her 
wisely. 

A  prudent  maiden  would  have  diverted  conversation. 
But  Aggie  hesitated  and  temporized. 

"Well,  five  years  is  a  very  long  time,"  she  admitted 
with  a  slight  sigh  ;  "  and  of  course  one  naturally  won- 
ders whether  a  person  will  really  strike  one  now  ex- 
actly as  he  struck  one  five  whole  long  years  ago." 

"  Precisely !"  Angus  answered,  and  dropped  the 
subject.  He  went  on  to  remark  on  the  beauty  of  the 
phosphoresence  that  sparkled  and  danced  upon  the 
surface  of  the  water.  They  leaned  over  to  look  at  it 
once  more  together.  Lovely  objects,  phosphoresence 
on  the  surface  of  the  water — especially  when  you  look 
over  at  it,  two  persons  together !  In  point  of  fact, 
they  stopped  up  looking  at  it,  in  that  balmy  southern 
air,  till  almost  midnight,  and  only  retired  to  their  re- 
spective berths  just  in  time  for  saving  the  last  end 
of  the  lights  before  they  were  ruthlessly  put  out  for 
the  evening.  The  old  ladies  on  board  shook  their 
heads  next  day,  and  observed  to  one  another  with 
scandalized  faces  that  the  sooner  Miss  Oswald  got 
safe  to  Bombay  the  better  for  her  lover. 


48  STRANGE  STORIES. 


At  Bombay,  meanwhile,  Phil  Oilman  was — eating 
out  his  heart  with  suspense  ?  Oh,  dear,  no.  He  was 
having  an  exceedingly  pleasant  time  with  Freda 
Trevelyan.  The  one  drawback  to  his  pleasure — oh, 
faithlessness  of  man  ! — was  the  thought  that  his  Aggie 
would  so  soon  come  out  and  spoil  it  all  for  him. 

Freda  and  he  got  on  admirably  together.  To  say 
the  truth,  she  was  far  better  fitted  for  him  by  nature 
than  Aggie  Oswald.  He  saw  it  clearly  himself  now  ; 
there  was  no  good  denying  it.  Aggie  and  he  had 
been  thrown  together  before  they  knew  their  own 
minds,  and  what  was  more  important  still,  before 
their  characters  had  fully  developed.  They  were  not 
fitted  by  real  tastes  and  instincts  for  one  another. 
Aggie  was  a  dear  little  girl,  of  course,  very  pretty  and 
dainty,  and  with  lovely  fluffy  hair ;  but  was  she  quite 
the  sort  of  woman  with  whom  a  man  of  his  type 
would  care  to  pass  a  whole  long  lifetime?  Wasn't 
she  better  adapted,  after  all,  by  tastes  and  habits,  for 
a  cavalry  officer  ?  Whereas  Freda  Trevelyan,  now, 
had  a  mind  and  a  soul ;  she  was  clever,  well-read, 
sympathetic,  quickly  perceptive  ;  her  mind  went  out 
to  his  at  once  by  instinct ;  she  seemed  to  jump  half- 
way to  meet  every  idea  he  advanced  to  her,  He 
could  almost  have  fallen  in  love  with  that  beautiful 
woman — if  it  were  not  for  Aggie  !  But  Phil  Gilman 
was  an  honest  man,  and  had  plighted  his  troth  to 
Aggie  Oswald.  He  wouldn't  turn  aside  now,  no,  not 
for  a  hundred  Fredas 

And  yet 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  49 

And  yet,  isn't  it  better,  he  asked  himself  in  his 
calmer  moments,  to  change  your  mind  before  marriage 
than  after  it  ?  Isn't  it  better  to  cry  off,  even  at  some 
present  cost  of  pain  and  humiliation  to  the  girl,  than 
to  tie  her  for  life  to  a  man  who  can  give  only  part  of 
his  heart  to  her?  Isn't  it  better  to  be  miserable  once 
for  all  in  one's  life  than  to  be  miserable  always  ? 
These  questions  sometimes  obtruded  themselves  pain- 
fully upon  Phil's  mind;  but  being  an  honest  man, 
why,  he  waved  them  aside  as  transparent  sophisms. 
Having  once  asked  Aggie  to  come  out  and  marry  him, 
it  would  be  cruel  and  wicked  and  selfish  and  unworthy, 
to  send  her  home  again  unwed.  Come  what  might,  as 
things  now  stood,  he  must  do  his  best  to  avoid  falling 
in  love  with  Freda. 

But  the  human  heart  is  a  wayward  organ.  It  re- 
fuses to  be  disciplined  by  the  brain  or  the  conscience. 

There  was  some  excuse,  you  know,  after  all,  for  the 
apparent  fickleness  of  these  two  young  people.  Their 
minds  were  in  both  cases  filled  full  beforehand  with 
the  idea  of  marriage.  They  had  nourished  their  soul 
for  five  long  years  with  what  the  Scotch  philosopher 
called  "  love  in  the  abstract  ";  and  now,  when  love  in 
the  concrete  seemed  so  near,  so  very  near,  neither  had 
at  hand  the  proper  person  upon  whom  to  expend  his 
or  her  affection.  Besides,  it  may  be  unromantic  and 
unconventional  to  confess  the  truth  ;  but  I  believe  it 
is  a  fact  of  human  nature  that  when  the  feelings  are 
very  much  roused  and  the  proper  person  isn't  by  to 
make  love  to,  there's  a  considerable  temptation  to 
transfer  the  love  to  the  first  eligible  recipient  one  hap- 
pens to  fall  in  with.  I've  found  it  so  myself,  and  I 
throw  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  a  jury  of  matrons. 


50  STRANGE  STORIES. 

And  in  both  these  cases,  as  it  happened,  the  first 
eligible  person  Phil  or  Aggie  met  was  also  one  more 
fitted  by  nature  for  the  vacant  post  than  the  old  love 
could  ever  possibly  have  been.  Phil  felt  uncomfort- 
ably aware  that  though  nothing  on  earth  would  induce 
him  to  make  love  to  Freda  Trevelyan,  still,  if  he  did 
yield  to  thai:  dreadful  temptation,  he  could  have  loved 
her  a  thousand  times  better  by  far  than  ever  he  could 
have  loved  poor,  fluffy-haired  Aggie.  And  Aggie,  in 
turn,  felt  that  though  it  would  be  treason  to  think  of 
Angus  Stuart  when  she  was  actually  on  her  way  out  to 
India  to  marry  Phil  Oilman,  still,  if  things  had  gone 
otherwise,  she  could  have  loved  that  handsome  soldier 
a  thousand  times  better  than  ever  she  could  love  poor 
philosopher  Phil  with  his  cut-and-dried  Deputy-Col- 
lectorship  away  somewhere  up  country. 

They  had  both  one  consolation ;  perhaps  when 
Aggie  turned  up,  after  five  years'  development,  she 
would  no  longer  be  the  pretty  little  fluffy-haired  fairy 
he  once  admired,  but  a  real  live  woman — something, 
don't  you  know,  like  Freda  Trevelyan  !  Or,  perhaps 
when  Phil  turned  up  he  would  no  longer  be  quite  so 
sober  and  grave  as  of  old  ;  five  years  of  Indian  life 
might  have  brightened  and  sharpened  him  up  into 
something  resembling  Angus  Stuart. 

Not  a  very  cheering  frame  of  mind,  I'm  afraid,  in 
which  to  approach  the  most  solemn  gi  all  human 
engagements  ! 

The  Indus  was  telegraphed  on  in  the  ordinary 
course  from  Port  Said,  from  Suez,  from  Aden.  The 
night  before  she  was  due  to  arrive  at  Bombay,  Phil 
Oilman  and  Freda  Trevelyan  sat  long  talking  together. 
Freda's  face  was  downcast.    She  was  not  glad  to  think 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  51 

that  night  must  be  the  last  night,  or  almost  the  last 
night,  they  would  spend  together.  Of  course  no  well- 
conducted  girl  would  ever  dream  of  falling  in  love 
with  another  woman's  affianced  bridegroom  ;  but  hu- 
man nature  is  weak ;  and  though  we  mayn't  quite  fall 
in  love  under  such  special  circumstances,  we  sometimes 
can't  exactly  help  producing  a  very  good  imitation  of 
the  genuine  article.  And  Freda  Trevelyan  certainly 
liked  Phil  Oilman  exceedingly.  He  was  so  bright  and 
so  ciever  and  so  different  from  the  other  men  she  met 
at  her  uncle's.  It  was  a  lovely  evening.  I've  observed 
lovely  evenings  are  peculiarly  dangerous.  They  rat 
long  and  talked  together  on  the  veranda  alone.  Sir 
Edward  Moulton,  most  correct  of  men  chaperons, 
thought  there  could  be  no  possible  harm  in  Freda's 
sitting  out  with  that  pleasant  young  Oilman  the  very 
night  before  the  girl  he  was  going  to  marry  arrived 
from  England.  So  they  sat  there  and  talked — and 
grew  more  and  more  confidential ;  till  at  last  a  faint 
tremor  showed  itself  in  Freda's  voice,  and  even  Phil 
was  conscious  of  a  feeling  in  his  throat,  and  a  regretful 
moisture  in  his  eye,  as  he  said  "  good-night  "  to  her. 

He  paused  and  held  her  hand.  "  I  could  have 
wished "  he  began. 

Freda  started  back,  half  alarmed.  "  No,  no,  Mr.  Oil- 
man," she  said,  anticipating  his  words.  "  You  may  feel 
it,  if  you  will,  but  you  must  not  say  it." 

"Then  you  knew  what  I  meant !"  Phil  cried,  leaning 
forward  eagerly. 

Freda's  bosom  heaved  and  fell.  "  How  could  I  help 
it?"  she  asked.     "  You  must  have  felt  I  knew  it." 

Phil  looked  at  her  earnestly.  "  What  ought  I  to  do?" 
he  asked.     "  You  see  how  things  stand.     I  loved  her 


$t  STRANGE  STORIES. 

dearly  once.  Now — yes,  I  will  speak  the  trutn — I  love 
someone  else  better.  No,  don't  start  away ;  I  want 
you  to  advise,  to  help  me,  to  counsel  me.  Is  it  right 
of  me,  then,  knowing  and  feeling  all  this,  to  marry 
her  ?  Can  I  meet  her  to-morrow  and  pretend  I  love 
her  as  I  loved  her  five  years  ago  ?  Ought  I  not  rather 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  explain  to  her  that  my  heart  is  no  longer  hers — 
that  as  things  stand,  I  ought  not  to  marry  her  ?  Is  it 
right  to  bind  her  to  me  for  life  when  I  no  longer  know 
whether  or  not  I  can  make  her  happy?  Oh,  Miss 
Trevelyan — Freda — do  counsel  me,  advise  me  !" 

The  beautiful  girl  held  one  hand  up  deprecatingly. 

"  You  mustn't  call  me  so,"  she  said  in  a  very  low 
voice.     "  It  is  unjust  to  her — and  to  me,  Mr.  Gilman. 

Though,  perhaps,  if  only "  she  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  But,  indeed,"  she  went  on,  after  a  deep  pause,  "  I 
think  it  would  be  cruel  to  her  to  bring  her  to  Bombay 
and  then  not  marry  her.  You  must  do  it  now,  at  all 
hazards.  Either  way  is  bad — to  marry  a  woman  you 
no  longer  love,  or  to  break  the  heart  of  a  woman  that 
loves  you.  But  the  last  is  infinitely  worse  than  the 
first.  You  must  go  on  with  it  now,  whatever  it  costs 
you.  It's  too  late  to  go  back.  You  may  ruin  your 
life,  but  you  save  your  honor." 

"  Well,   but,    Freda "  Phil    cried,  with    a   very 

pleading  voice,  "  wouldn't  it  just  be  possible " 

"You  mustn't  call  me  Freda,"  the  beautiful  woman 
said,  with  gentle  firmness.  '*  You  should  never  have 
called  me  so.  You  must  forget  all  about  me.  Take 
me  back  to  my  uncle.  It  is  wrong  of  us  to  have 
stopped  here  so  long  together." 

Phil  stood  off  a  little  and  looked  at  her. 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  $3 

"But  we  can  always  be  friends,"  he  said,  very 
slowly. 

The  woman  in  Freda  rose  up  irresistibly  for  a 
second. 

"Yes,  we  can  always  be  friends,"  she  answered, 
with  a  lingering  cadence.  Then  after  a  short  pause, 
"  Though  after  all,  Mr.  Oilman,  that's  a  poor  consola- 
tion." 

And  the  moment  she'd  said  it  womanly  shame  over- 
came her,  and  she  rushed  back,  all  blushes,  into  her 
uncle's  drawing-room. 

But  Phil  Oilman  lay  half  that  livelong  night — the 
night  before  Aggie  was  to  arrive  in  India — thinking 
over  to  himself  the  evil  turns  of  fate  below,  and  the 
curious  tricks  that  fortune  sometimes  plays  us.  He 
knew  now  that  Freda  would  have  married  him  had  he 
been  free  to  marry  her  ;  she  had  as  good  as  told  him 
so  in  those  few  last  words;  but  come  what  might, 
he  must  marry  Aggie.  And  so  those  two  good  young 
people,  one  in  Bombay  and  one  on  the  Indian  Ocean, 
were  rightly  prepared  to  make  four  lives  unhappy 
that  might  all  have  gone  straight,  out  of  pure  devotion 
to  the  cause  of  duty. 

It  had  come  down  to  duty  now.  They  both  frankly 
recognized  it.  Phil  felt  he  could  never  do  anything 
but  marry  Aggie,  after  bringing  her  out  all  the  way 
from  England  to  meet  him.  Aggie  felt  she  could 
never  do  anything  but  marry  Phil,  after  he  had  actu- 
ally paid  her  passage-money  and  arranged  for  her  out- 
fit. And  both  were  prepared  to  go  to  their  martyr- 
dom with  the  best  grace  they  could  summon  up,  for 
the  sake  of  the  other,  and  the  purely  historical  love 
they  had  once  felt  for  another. 


54  STRANGE  STORIES. 


VI. 


Next  day  was  stormy ;  and  when  it's  stormy  at 
Bombay,  I  can  tell  you  it  really  is  stormy.  The  Indus 
arrived  in  due  course  in  the  open  bay  ;  surf  running 
very  high ;  no  surf  in  the  world  like  the  surf  that 
beats  upon  Malabar  Point  in  heavy  weather.  The 
passengers  were  transferred  to  the  little  lighter-boats 
which  take  people  ashore  from  the  ocean  steamers. 
To  Aggie,  who  had  never  been  away  from  England 
before,  the  whole  scene  of  the  landing  was  peculiarly 
terrifying.  The  sight  of  the  black  boatmen,  naked  to 
the  waist,  all  clamoring  and  jabbering  in  their  un- 
known tongue ;  the  high  surf  on  which  the  little  boats 
danced  up  and  down  like  corks  ;  the  novelty  of  the 
situation ;  the  painful  feeling  of  parting  from  her 
fellow-voyagers,  with  whom  she  had  struck  up  a  good 
many  friendships  on  the  way ;  and  the  horrid  sense  of 
being  abandoned  to  the  tender  mercies  of  strangers  in 
a  strange  land  ; — all  these  things  conspired  to  produce 
on  her  mind  a  terrible  sinking  of  awe  and  terror.  She 
looked  around  her  helplessly.  Mrs.  Mackinnon,  her 
chaperon,  was  to  land  in  the  same  boat ;  but  that  fact, 
I  will  frankly  confess,  gave  Aggie  far  less  comfort 
than  the  other  consideration  that  Angus  Stuart  was 
also  to  accompany  them.  Women  are  timorous  crea- 
tures. They  need  the  consolation  of  the  opposite  sex. 
Aggie  didn't  think  she  could  ever  have  stepped  into 
that  dreadful  boat,  all  dancing  on  the  surf,  and  with 
those  strange  black  creatures  shouting  and  gesticulat- 
ing, without  a  man  to  take  care  of  her,  and  if  a  man, 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  55 

then  Angus  Stuart  by  preference.  She  wasn't  afraid 
«f  him,  she  said  to  herself ;  and  she  knew  he  would 
protect  her  against  sea  and  savages  ;  for  as  so  many- 
savages  Aggie  simply  envisaged  those  good,  unsophis- 
ticated Bombay  boatmen. 

She  hardly  knew  how  she  ever  tumbled  into  that 
boat ;  but  she  tumbled  in  somehow,  with  Angus 
Stuart's  aid  ;  and  sat  cowering  in  the  stern,  while  the 
spray  dashed  up  against  the  sides  in  a  surprising  man- 
ner. In  a  very  few  minutes  the  boat  was  full,  and  the 
boatmen  began  to  get  under  weigh  for  the  quay  with 
strange  cries  and  loud  ejaculations.  Aggie  had  never 
seen  anything  so  terrific  in  her  life ;  and  though  Angus 
assured  her  there  wasn't  the  slightest  danger — I'm 
afraid  I  must  admit  she  sometimes  thought  of  him  as 
Angus  in  her  own  heart,  though  she  was  on  her  way 
out  to  marry  Phil  Oilman — she  couldn't  quite  believe 
him.  At  each  very  big  wave,  she  crouched  nearer  and 
nearer  him. 

"  Oh,  Captain  Stuart,"  she  cried  at  last,  "  do  please 
hold  my  hand.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  ever  do. 
We  can't  stop  and  get  out.  Oh,  I  '  am  '  so  fright- 
ened !" 

The  young  man  tried  his  best  to  assure  her  there 
was  no  danger  ;  but  Aggie  was  inconsolable.  And 
indeed,  the  surf  was  running  very  high  and  dangerous. 
Even  the  native  boatmen  looked  ahead  with  evident 
apprehension.  The  waves  broke  over  them  once  or 
twice  and  drenched  them.  It  was  dreadful  to  have 
crossed  the  Mediterranean  and  the  Red  Sea  in  perfect 
safety,  and  then  to  be  tossed  and  bullied  like  this,  well 
within  sight  of  Bombay  harbor.  The  nearer  they  got 
to  shore,  the  more  appalling,  of  course,  did  the  surf 


56  STRANGE   STORIES. 

become.  It's  famous,  that  surf  ;  it  makes  Malabar 
Point  itself  almost  uninhabitable  at  certain  seasons. 
At  last,  Aggie  could  suffer  her  alarm  no  longer.  She 
shrank  back  with  all  a  woman's  appealing  terror. 

"  Oh,  do,  put  your  arm  round  me,  Captain  Stuart,  " 
she  cried  in  pure  feminine  fear.  **  What  ever  shall  I 
do?     I  'am'  so  frightened!" 

Just  at  that  moment,  one  of  the  boatmen  missed 
his  hold  on*  the  treacherous  water,  and  of  a  sudden 
the  lighter  slued  round,  broadside  to  the  waves  ;  and 
all  was  up  with  them !  Aggie  clapped  her  hands  to 
her  ears.  There  was  a  sound  of  rushing  water,  a  hor- 
rible sense  of  wetness  and  helplessness  and  terror  ;  and 
next  instant  she  was  aware  of  a  great  salt  flood  rush- 
ing in  at  mouth  and  eyes  and  ears  and  nostrils.  She 
was  sinking  to  the  bottom !  They  had  capsized  the 
boat !     She  was  drowning ! 

Down,  down,  down,  in  that  deep  warm  water  !  Even 
in  the  midst  of  her  terror,  Aggie  was  dimly  conscious 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  warm,  not  chilly.  If  you've 
got  to  be  drowned,  she  thought  to  herself  vaguely,  as 
she  gasped  and  choked,  it's  better  to  be  drowned  in 
warm  than  cold  water.  Down,  down,  down,  to  the  very 
lowest  depths — and  then,  slowly,  up  again  !  She  reached 
the  surface,  spluttering.  Oh,  great  heavens,  what 
waves !  what  surf !  what  large  mountains  of  water ! 
Aggie  couldn't  swim  ;  but  even  if  she  could,  no  swim- 
mer, she  felt  sure,  could  ever  live  through  those  irresis- 
tible billows.  One  of  the  black  boatmen,  more  ac- 
customed to  such  mishaps,  made  a  desperate  grab  at 
her.  Aggie,  horrified  at  his  dusky  hands,  wriggled 
aside  and  eluded  him.  She  was  going  down  a  second 
time  now.    Even  with  the  water  in  her  ears  and  eyes 


CRIS-CROSS  LOVE.  57 

and  mouth,  she  remembered  to  have  read  that  if  you 
go  down  three  time^j,  all  is  up  with  you.  (A  foolish 
superstition,  which  must  only  too  often  have  worked 
out  its^own  fulfillment).  She  gasped  and  struggled.  All 
at  once,  she  thought  to  herself.  "  Oh,  if  only  Captain 
Stuart  could  catch  me  !*'  And  straightway,  upon  the 
thought,  she  felt  two  strong  arms  around  her,  and  was 
aware  that  Angus  Stuart  had  come  to  her  rescue. 

What  followed  she  hardly  knew.  To  say  the  truth, 
the  art  of  surf  swimming  is  much  simpler  than  it  looks. 
If  you  try  to  breast  the  waves,  or  even  to  go  broad- 
side on  to  them,  all  is  up  with  you  at  once.  You  are 
tossed  a  helpless  corpse  on  the  beach  in  front  of  you. 
But  if  you  merely  rise  on  the  crest,  and  let  the  wave 
carry  you  with  it  landward,  you  find  yourself  de- 
posited gently  ashore  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of 
time.  All  you  have  to  do  then  is  to  run  deftly  out  of 
reach,  before  the  force  of  the  undertow  begins  to  suck 
you  back  again.  Angus  Stuart,  as  it  happened,  was 
an  adept  in  the  art ;  and  almost  before  Aggie  quite 
realized  what  was  actually  happening,  he  was  standing 
with  her  on  the  hard  sand,  well  out  of  reach  of  the 
waves,  and  holding  her  tight  in  her  dripping  clothes 
to  prevent  her  from  fainting. 

As  for  Aggie  in  that  first  flush  of  joy  and  relief 
at  her  delivery  from  such  appalling  and  impending 
danger — she  forgot  everything  on  earth  except  her 
sense  of  gratitude  to  her  brave  deliverer,  and  clung  to 
him  passionately,  and  covered  him  with  kisses. 


58  STRANGE  STORIES. 


VII. 


Phil  was  standing  on  the  shore,  and  witnessed  with 
some  Httle  surprise  and  restraint  this  unrehearsed 
effect  in  a  living  drama.  His  own  greeting  of  Aggie 
was  perhaps  a  trifle  less  warm  than  might  have  been 
expected  after  five  years'  separation.  But  then,  you 
see,  it  might  be  pleaded  in  extenuation  that  Aggie  was 
wet,  most  painfully  wet,  and  that  Angus  Stuart  was 
quite  obviously  in  possession.  It  was  an  awkward 
moment.  However,  after  a  short  pause,  Phil  took 
Aggie  over,  so  to  speak,  and  proceeded  to  accompany 
her  up  to  the  house  of  their  mutual  friend,  whence  she 
expected  to  be  married.  Angus  Stuart  came  round 
there  too,  after  a  very  brief  interval  for  changing  his 
clothes.  Naturally  enough,  he  was  anxious  to  learn 
how  the  lady  he  had  rescued  had  survived  her  wetting. 

The  young  soldier  had  a  word  or  two  alone  with  the 
little  bride  in  the  room  behind,  while  Phil  talked  to 
their  hostess  in  the  big  front  drawing-room.  By  this 
time,  Aggie  had  got  the  fluffy  hair  tolerably  dry,  and 
had  endued  herself  afresh  in  her  pretty  little  morning 
dress  with  the  pique  waistcoat.  She  looked  really 
charming.  Angus  Stuart  thought  he  had  never  seen 
her  quite  so  sweet  before.  She  looked  up  at  him 
appealingly. 

"  Well,  shall  I  speak  to  him?"  Angus  asked. 

And  Aggie  drawing  back,  made  answer  very  low, 
**  Oh,  no  ;  not  for  worlds  !    You  mustn't !    How  could 

But  the  soldier  was  fortunately  of  bolder  mould. 
With  a  resolute  face  he  went  up  to  Philip. 


CRIS-CROSS   LOVE.  59 

"  Might  I  have  a  few  words  with  you  alone,  Mr. 
Gilman  ?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

Phil,  half  expecting  what  was  coming,  bowed  his 
head  in  acquiescence ;  and  the  two  men  went  out 
together  on  the  broad  veranda. 

Angus  Stuart  cleared  his  throat.  It  was  an  awkward 
subject  to  tackle,  but  there  was  no  avoiding  it. 

"  It's  some  years  since  you  saw  Miss  Oswald,  I 
believe  ?"  he  began,  tentatively. 

Phil  met  him  half  way.  "Yes,  some  years,"  he 
answered;  "and  I  imagine  Miss  Oswald  has  had 
almost  time  to  change  her  mind  meanwhile."  He 
said  it  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Well,  no  ;  perhaps  not  quite  that,"  Angus  answer- 
ed with  a  faint  smile  of  pleasure  ;  "  but  you  see,  I've 
had  it  in  my  power  to  render  her  to-day  a  slight 
service ;  and — but  I've  no  right  to  speak  on  her 
behalf ;  and  I'm  sure  she  desires  to  act  honorably  in 
the  matter." 

'*  Precisely  my  desire,"  Phil  murmured,  meaningly. 

Angus  Stuart  caught  by  instinct  at  the  faint  under- 
current of  intonation  m  his  significant  words. 

"  To  act  honorably  ?"  he  repeated,  with  a  tone  of 
abstract  inquiry.  "  You  put  in  on  those  grounds, 
then  ?" 

"  I  do,  perhaps,"  Phil  answered,  catching  a 
sympathetic  glance  in  his  neighbor's  eye. 

Angus  ventured  to  be  still  bolder.  "  Then  you 
wouldn't  feel  it  a  slight,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  an  irrepar- 
able slight,  if,  as  a  consequence  of  recent  events.  Miss 
Oswald " 

**  On  the  contrary,"  Phil  answered,  frankly,  helping 


r 

60  STRANGE  STORIES. 

him  out  in  turn,  "recent  events  on  my  side,  too " 

And  he  broke  off  shortly. 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled.  They  had 
no  need  to  say  much  more.  But  Angus  drew  back  a 
little. 

"I  think  I  understand,"  he  said.     "Another  lady." 

"  Quite  so,"  Phil  answered.  "  And  in  Miss  Oswald's 
case,  I  suppose,  another  gentleman." 

*'  In  point  of  fact — myself,"  Angus  replied,  growing 
hot. 

"  Then  as  a  matter  of  honor,  neither  side  is  bound," 
Phil  put  in,  somewhat  timidly. 

"  I  think  not,"  the  soldier  replied.  "And  as  to  the 
business  arrangements,  I  fancy  you  and  I  can  settle 
those  between  us." 

When  Aggie  came  to  hear  of  it  all  afterward,  only 
one  serious  dif^culty  in  the  way  occurred  to  her.  She 
hesitated  to  mention  it.  But  Angus  Stuart  gave  her 
an  easy  lead. 

"  Well,  your  trousseau '11  do,  Aggie,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing, a  little  later  that  very  evening.  (It  was  Aggie  and 
Angus  by  that  time  between  them.) 

"  Ye-es,"  Aggie  answered,  with  a  blush,  holding  her 
head  very  low ;  "  but — the  worst  of  it  is,  my  things, 
don't  you  know,  are  all  marked  A.  Gilman." 

Bombay  had  never  two  gayer  weddings.  And  no- 
body on  earth  was  ever  more  astonished  than  poor  old 
Mrs.  Oswald,  when  she  received  the  news  that  Aggie 
was  married,  not  to  Phil  Gilman,  but  to  an  officer  she 
had  met  on  board  the  Indus. 


THE  GOVERNOR  S  STORY. 

We  were  seated  at  dinner  at  Government  House. 
It  was  a  balmy  West  Indian  evening,  and  the  cool  sea- 
breeze  stole  pleasantly  in  through  the  open  arches  of 
the  veranda.  Down  in  the  valley  below,  great  palm 
trees  waved  their  graceful  arms  in  the  twilight  before 
each  passing  gust,  and  plantains  whispered  music  to 
the  low  hum  of  the  insects.  Within,  all  was  lamp- 
light, and  flowers,  and  perfume.  A  more  delicious 
tropical  night  I  can  hardly  remember — a  night  of  soft 
breaths,  faint  sounds,  sweet  odors. 

And  the  talk,  too — the  talk  was  most  brilliant  and 
interesting !  Our  host,  the  Governor,  Sir  Everard 
Spence,  is  well  known  throughout  Europe  as  the  man 
of  science  par  excellence  in  English  colonial  service. 
His  bronzed  and  sunburnt  face,  deep  scarred  with  the 
lines  of  many  early  privations  and  self-sought  hard- 
ships, always  rouses  a  ready  cheer  of  welcome  at  the 
British  Association,  and  a  generous  greeting  at  the 
Royal  SGOAtXy  soirie.  His  knowledge  of  tropical  beasts 
and  birds,  in  particular,  is  probably  unequaled  among 
living  Englishmen.  He  has  spent  his  days  in  collect- 
ing, observing,  arranging,  classifying ;  and  has  been 
rewarded  accordingly  by  a  grateful  country  with  the 
ill-paid  governorship  of  a  fourth-rate  colony.  Yet  a 
more  dignified  specimen  of  Nature's  own  gentlemen 

[6il 


62  STRANGE  STORIES. 

you  won't  find  in  the  world  than  the  snowy-haired 
author  of  "  Life  and  its  Origins." 

As  we  loitered  over  our  wine,  carried  away  by  the 
charm  of  the  Governor's  conversation,  a  black  servant 
came  in  with  a  scrap  of  paper  for  Sir  Everard.  Our 
host  took  it  in  his  spare  hands  and  glanced  at  it  care- 
lessly. 

"  Who  is  the  man,  Thomas  ?"  he  asked  in  his  kindly 
way. 

And  Thomas  made  answer,  with  a  profound  bow, 
"  Him  say  him  an  unfortunate  Englishman,  sah  ;  don't 
got  no  work  ;  wish  to  speak  with  your  Excellency." 

The  private  secretary  smiled  a  somewhat  cynical 
smile. 

"In  my  experience  of  the  West  Indies,"  he  said, 
with  a  careless  twirl  of  his  waxed  mustache,  "  I've 
always  found  that  an  unfortunate  Englishman  means 
in  very  plain  words  a  drunken  reprobate." 

But  Sir  Everard  rose  at  once,  and  went  out  anxiously 
to  the  door.  "  An  unfortunate  Englishman  in  the 
tropics,"  he  answered,  in  a  very  slow  voice  as  he  went, 
"  always  enlists  my  profoundest  sympathies.  He  may 
be  drunken,  of  course  ;  he  may  be  idle  and  disrepu- 
table— most  often  he  is ;  but  the  question  remains, 
even  then — who  or  what  has  made  him  so." 

*'  The  Governor's  always  too  generous  to  tramps," 
the  private  secretary  went  on,  as  Sir  Everard  disap- 
peared. "  He's  Quixotic  in  his  way,  don't  you  know? 
Takes  a  Utopian  view  of  things." 

"  Better  that  than  be  a  cynic,"  I  answered,  quietly, 
as  I  drained  the  last  drops  of  my  strong  black  coffee ; 
for  Sir  Everard's  personality  always  chained  and 
enthralled  me. 


THE  governor's   STORY.  63 

At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  the  Governor  returned 
with  a  very  sad  face.  "  Wade,"  he  said  to  his  sec- 
retary, "take  this  man  round  to  your  rooms  at  once, 
please  ;  give  him  what  food  he  wants,  and  a  shelter  for 
the  night;  but,  mind  you,  no  liquor.  Captain  Mor- 
timer," to  the  aide-de-camp,  "  you  can  go  with  him  if 
you  like.  Pearson,"  to  me,  "  I  want  half-an-hour's 
talk  with  you." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  I  answered  (you  sir  a  colonial 
Governor  every  now  and  again,  exactly  as  if  he  were  a 
disobedient  man-servant),  and  I  lighted  my  cigarette 
and  composed  myself  to  listen. 

The  Governor  paused  and  looked  steadily  at  me  for 
half  a  minute.  "  Pearson,"  he  began  at  last,  "  did  I 
ever  tell  you  how  I  came  to  have  ideas  of  my  own 
about  tramps  in  the  tropics  ?" 

"Why  no  ;  I  think' not,"  I  said,  gazing  hard  at  the 
slim  figure  in  the  evening  suit  and  irreproachable  tie, 
the  very  picture  of  a  distinguished  old  colonial  satrap. 

*'  Well,  the  wonder  of  it  all  is,"  he  went  on  reflec- 
tively, *'  that  I  didn't  take  to  drink  myself,  and  go  to 
the  bad  utterly.  There  was  a  time,  I  believe,  when 
only  twenty-four  hours  stood  between  me  and  that 
poor,  penniless  creature  there." 

"  Indeed,"  I  cried,  gazing  still  harder  at  the  grand 
old  head,  and  respecting  him  all  the  more  for  that 
candid  avowal. 

*'  Yes,  it's  true,"  the  Governor  went  on  musingly. 
"  True,  every  word  of  it.  And  this  is  the  way  it  all 
came  about,  if  you  don't  think  it  egotistical  in  an  old 
man  to  talk  about  it." 

"  By  no  means,"  with  a  quiet  smile,  I  answered  ; 
"your  reminiscences  are  always  interesting." 


64  •  STRANGE  STORIES. 

He  £:jl.inccd  at  mc  curiously. 

"Well,  it's  fifty  years  ago  now,"  he  began,  "since 
my  brother  Fred  and  I  started  on  our  expedition  to 
the  lower  slopes  of  the  Andes.  Fred's  Governor  of 
North  Australia  at  present,  as  you  know  ;  and  I — well, 
Fm  here,  at  Port  of  France,  as  you  see  me  ;  but  in 
those  days  we  were  a  pair  of  young  city  clerks,  without 
a  friend  or  penny,  in  a  London  office.  However,  even 
then,  we  had  our  heads  stuffed  as  full  of  ideas  as  an 
egg  is  full  of  meat  ;  and  we  were  determined  to  work 
out  our  great  theories  of  life  in  our  own  pet  way,  if  we 
gave  the  last  drop  of  our  blood  to  do  it.  Those  were 
the  days,  you  know,  when  new  notions  were  in  the  air  ; 
and  Fred  and  I  had  grand  views  of  our  own,  which  we 
sprang  on  the  world  at  last  in  *  Life  and  its  Origins.' 
We  were  as  poor  as  church  mice,  to  be  sure,  but  we 
didn't  mind  for  that  ;  between  us  we  had  laid  up  a 
hundred  pounds  out  of  our  joint  salaries,  by  saving 
here  and  scraping  there,  till  we  could  wait  no  longer, 
and  with  the  hundred  pounds  we  set  off  by  ourselves 
to  solve  the  problems  of  the  universe  in  the  tropical 
forests. 

"  It  was  a  bold  attempt,  but,  as  Mill  said  to  me  later, 
the  result  justified  it. 

"  Our  central  idea,  as  you  know,  was  that  equatorial 
conditions  had  prevailed  over  the  world  till  a  very  late 
date  in  geological  ages  ;  and  therefore,  we  said  to  our- 
selves, whoever  would  investigate  the  origins  of  life, 
must  investigate  them  where  the  conditions  are  the 
same — in  the  equatorial  region.  So,  off  we  set  by 
ourselves,  as  blithe  as  two  young  bears,  to  look  forth 
upon  our  theory  from  the  slopes  of  the  Andes.  We 
thought;  a   hundred  pounds  a  lot  of  money  in  those 


THE  governor's   STORY.  65 

days ;  we  expected  it  to  last  us  an  indefinite  period. 
Still,  for  cheapness'  sake,  we  took  passage  in  a  worn- 
out  and  ramshackled  old  slaver,  the  Don  Pedro  by- 
name, from  Bristol  to  Bahia ;  and  in  due  time  as  you 
know,  landed  in  South  America. 

**  Without  one  day's  delay,  as  soon  as  ever  we 
landed,  we  made  our  way  up  country,  by  boat  and  on 
foot,  to  the  wild  forests  of  the  Andes.  There  we 
made  friends  with  the  Indians  of  the  place.  Our  idea 
was  to  spend  what  remained  of  our  hundred  pounds 
as  slowly  as  possible,  to  live  to  a  great  extent  on  the 
game  we  shot,  and  to  rely  for  the  future  on  the  sale  of 
our  collections,  which  we  knew  would  bring  in  a  good 
round  sum  in  England. 

"Once  settled  in  our  hut,  a  poor  wattled  shelter,  we 
set  to  work  at  once  and  collected  with  a  will,  and  at 
the  end  of  twelve  months  we'd  done  so  finely  that 
Fred  went  down  to  Bahia  to  ship  our  goods  to  Lon- 
don, which  we  confidently  valued  at  three  hundred 
pounds  sterling.  We'd  worked  pretty  hard  I  can  tell 
you  to  do  so  much  in  our  time,  and  we'd  lived  pretty 
sparingly  on  yam  and  plantain  ;  but  our  poor  little 
capital  was  fairly  well  eaten  up  by  then,  and  we'd 
hardly  anything  left  to  live  meanwhile  upon. 

*'  However,  the  negroes  on  the  few  estates  about 
were  tolerably  friendly,  and  the  Indians  trusted  us,  so 
by  promising  to  repay  them  well  *  when  our  ship  came 
in,'  as  we  always  said,  I  managed  to  pull  through  till 
Fred's  return  from  Bahia. 

"  It  took  a  long  time,  in  those  days,  to  get  up  and 
down  country  by  the  flat-bottomed  boats;  and  a  long 
time,  too,  for  a  ship  to  sail  from  Brazil  to  London  ;  so 
it  was  nearly  six  months  before   I  heard  again  from 


^  STRANGE  STORIES. 

Fred ;  and  all  that  time  I  was  living  on  what  I  could 
get  from  the  negroes  on  credit — the  credit  of  my 
promises,  discounting  our  expected  remittance  from 
England. 

"At  last,  one  evening,"  (he  drew  his  hand  across  his 
brow,  as  if  the  recollection  was  too  much  for  him)  "  I 
can  remember  it  as  though  it  were  yesterday,  I  was 
sitting  at  the  door  of  my  hut,  skinning  a  new  kind  of 
monkey  to  add  to  my  collection,  when  suddenly  I 
heard  a  noise  of  slow  footsteps  through  the  wood,  as 
of  somebody  coming  up  along  the  trail,  very  tired  and 
wretched.  I  looked  round.  It  was  Fred.  He  stood 
before  me  and  gasped.  He  was  footsore  and  worn, 
and  pale  as  a  ghost  with  horror. 

"  *  Why,  Fred,'  I  cried,  '  how's  this  ?  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you're  alone!  Where's  the  provisions? 
the  goods?  the  ammunition?   everything?' 

"  He  flung  himself  down  on  the  ground,  ready  to 
drop  where  he  stood  with  fatigue  and  despair.  *  All 
gone — all  lost,'  he  gasped  out,  *  every  box,  every  can 
of  them  !' 

"  *  Not  Indians  !'  I  cried  in  horror.  *  Not  Indians, 
Fred,  surely !' 

"  *  No,  not  Indians,'  he  answered,  shaking  his  head 
very  hard.  *  Worse  than  that.  Far  worse.  The  sea  ! 
the  sea !  Gone  to  the  bottom,  my  dear  fellow — every 
man  Jack  of  them.* 

"  I  gazed  at  him  horror-struck. 

"  It  was  some  time  before  I  could  get  him  composed 
enough  to  tell  me  the  whole  terrible  truth  a  little 
more  calmly.  For  cheapness'  sake  he  had  shipped  our 
entire  collection — our  priceless  beasts  and  birds,  the 
labor  of  twelve  months — in  the  crazy  hull  of  that  ram- 


THE  governor's  STORV.  6/ 

shackled  Don  Pedro  ;  and  the  Don  Pedro  had  gone 
down  in  an  Atlantic  cyclone,  with  our  precious  orchids 
and  butterflies  and  skins  in  her  hold — the  finest  tropi- 
cal museum  ever  gathered  together.  It  was  pitiable 
to  think  of  all  those  wasted  months,  all  that  reckless 

« 

destruction  of  almost  unique  specimens. 

"  *  Thank  God,  Fred,'  I  cried,  fervently,  as  he  fin- 
ished his  story,  '  our  manuscripts  are  safe  !  The  knowl- 
edge and  experience  we've  gained,  at  least  is  left  us. 
No  one  can  take  that  away  from  us  !  We've  got  it  in 
our  hearts  !  It's  our  own  for  ever  !'  For  already  the 
materials  for  '  Life  and  its  Origins  *  were  in  embryo  in 
the  forest. 

"  Well,  after  this  crushing  blow  we  had  to  think  of 
how  we  could  begin  work  again,  and  pile  up  a  second 
collection  as  good  as  the  first  one.  Starvation  fairly 
stared  us  in  the  face  just  then;  it  was  a  question  of 
food,  not  merely  of  science.  Fred  had  struggled 
in  on  foot,  more  dead  than  alive,  and  half  faint  with 
hunger.  Our  ammunition  was  gone  ;  our  credit  bro- 
ken. What  could  we  do  for  our  living  ?  That  was 
now  the  question. 

"We  went  to  a  neighboring  planter,  in  the  nearest 
settlement — for  we  were  camping  out  in  the  wilds,  fifty 
miles  from  a  house — and  put  the  thing  plainly  to  him. 
He  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  in  his  way,  as  slavehold- 
ers go,  and  he  pitied  our  plight ;  though,,  like  most 
Portuguese-Americans,  he  hadn't  the  slightest  idea 
what  on  earth  we  could  want  to  go  hunting  beetles 
and  weeds  for.  He  didn't  even  understand  what  sci- 
ence meant.  He  regarded  us  as  a  couple  of  amiable 
but  peculiar  lunatics.  Still,  we  were  white  men,  and 
he  pitied  our  plight.     '  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  for 


68  STRANGE  STORIES. 

you/  he  said  to  us  in   Portuguese,  *  I'll  take  you  upon 
my  estates  to  work  at  the  cocoa  plantations.' 

"  We  deHberated  together.  It  was  a  hard  offer — 
negro's  work,  wholly  unfit  for  Europeans  in  that 
deadly  climate.  But  it  was  all  we  could  get,  and  we 
managed  it  this  way.  Every  second  day  Fred  took 
his  place  on  the  estate,  with  the  gang  of  slaves,  and 
did  his  day's  labor,  for  a  slave's  rations  and  a  few 
pence  as  wages ;  while  I  went  out  in  the  forest,  as 
usual,  collecting.  Then,  on  the  alternate  days,  I  took 
my  place  in  the  gang,  while  Fred  went  off  with  his 
gun,  after  birds  and  monkeys.  In  this  way  we  counted 
together  as  one  man,  and  we  lived  between  us,  on  one 
slave's  food,  eked  out  with  what  little  we  could  buy 
with  our  daily  wage,  after  keeping  ourselves  in  am- 
munition and  so  forth.  Talk  about  the  happy  negro 
on  the  good  massa's  plantation  !  I  know  what  slavery 
means,  Pearson,  for  to  all  intents  and  purposes  I've 
been  a  slave  myself ;  and  I  tell  you  it's  damnable — 
nothing  short  of  damnable.  On  Sundays  and  festas, 
however,  we  had  a  holiday  together;  and  then  we  col- 
lected with  all  our  might  and  main,  as  it  was  the  only 
time  we  could  get  out  into  the  woods  both  at  once, 
and  in  hunting  two  men  abreast  can  do  more  in  a  day 
than  one  alone  can  effect  in  a  fortnight.  In  the  twi- 
light, too,  we  made  some  capital  finds,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  often  we  almost  did  ourselves  out  of  our  night's 
rest  in  order  to  make  haste  with  our  precious  collec- 
tion. 

It  took  us  eighteen  months,  all  the  same,  under  these 
altered  circumstances,  and  with  ill-made  powder,  to 
gather  together  what  we  had  managed  before  in  twelve. 
But  at  last  with  hard  work  our  collection  was  ready, 


THE  governor's  STORY.  69 

almost   as   good  as   the   first,  and   in   some  respects 
richer. 

*'  Then  the  question  arose,  how  were  we  to  get  it  to 
the  sea  and  ship  it  to  England  ?  Fred  was  the  stronger 
of  the  two,  and  there  were  lots  of  boxes.  So,  in  spite 
of  his  previous  misfortune,  we  decided  that  he  must 
take  charge  of  it,  with  a  friendly  Indian  to  help  him, 
and  must  see  it  off  from  Bahia  in  the  usual  fashion.  I 
was  to  stop  behind,  and  work  on  the  plantation  every 
day  alike,  in  his  absence,  saving  my  wages  as  far  as  I 
could,  and  then,  when  he  returned,  I  was  to  go  on  to 
Bahia,  with  my  cash  in  my  hands  and  await  the  arrival 
of  our  expected  remittance,  while  he  in  turn  worked  on 
upon  the  estate  for  a  livelihood. 

"  I  can  tell  you  it  was  a  dreary  long  time  while  Fred 
was  away,  and  I  had  to  toil  and  moil,  all  alone  by  my- 
self, in  that  sultry  climate,  surrounded  by  negro  slaves 
who  talked  bad  Portuguese,  and  without  a  friend  or  an 
equal  of  any  sort  near  me.  Sometimes  I  almost  des- 
paired in  the  hot  tropical  noonday,  working  away 
under  the  fierce  sun,  with  the  rest  of  the  gang  by  my 
side,  and  not  a  Christian  soul  to  say  God-speed  to  me 
anywhere.  The  very  negroes  despised  me  for  a  *  mean 
white  '■ — a  ^/r/rt-^j/ gentleman.  Night  after  night  I  lay 
awake  by  myself,  and  half  cried  in  my  misery,  and 
prayed  for  Fred  to  return,  and  thought  of  one  face  I 
had  left  in  England.  That's  Lady  Spence's  portrait 
as  she  looked  in  those  days — not  Lady  Spence  then,  of 
course — but  it  doesn't  do  her  justice.  I  wondered 
whether  I'd  done  right  to  come  away  from  her  like 
that,  on  a  wild-goose  chase  for  science's  sake,  when  I 
ought  to  have  stopped  at  home  and  cast  up  accounts 
in  the  City. 


70  STRANGE  STORIES. 

"  At  last,  however,  those  terrible  three  months  passed 
away,  and  Fred  returned  from  the  coast  very  weary 
and  ill,  but  ready  to  take  my  place,  and  relieve  me 
from  duty.  It  was  with  a  sinking  heart  I  set  off  in  my 
turn,  though  I  was  worn  and  ill,  for  I  couldn't  bear  to 
leave  him  behind  in  such  lonely  slavery  as  I  myself  had 
endured  those  three  months  without  him. 

"  I  got  to  Bahia  in  due  course,  with  a  few  pounds  in 
pocket,  which  soon  melted  away,  as  you  can  easily 
imagine,  with  the  expenses  of  life  in  a  civilized  city.  I 
was  waiting  for  the  mail  to  arrive  from  England,  bring- 
ing me  in  news,  and  I  hoped,  too,  a  remittance,  from 
our  London  agents.  Fred  had  reported  well  of  our 
chances  of  success,  for  a  German  professor,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  at  Bahia  when  he  was  sending  them  off, 
inspected  the  things  before  they  went,  and  was  en- 
chanted at  the  variety  and  value  of  our  collection. 
We  trusted  our  troubles  would  soon  be  over,  and  we 
might  begin  in  real  earnest  collecting  on  our  own  ac- 
count, and  making  the  needful  observations  to  com- 
plete our  theory. 

"  Day  after  day  passed,  and  the  mail  didn't  arrive. 
Mails  to  South  America,  in  those  days,  were  very 
moveable  feasts.  A  week  or  two  more  or  less  hardly 
astonished  anybody.  But  my  money  market  was 
getting  remarkably  tight,  and  every  twenty-four  hours 
to  me  was  a  life  and  death  matter. 

"  At  last  the  mail  came  in,  and  with  it  a  letter.  I 
stood  on  the  steps  of  the  post  office  in  my  tattered 
up-country  clothes,  and  tore  it  open  eagerly.  It  was 
from  our  London  agents.  They  had  the  honor  to 
acknowledge  the  receipt  of  our  valuable  collection,  in 
very  good   order,  and  trusted   to  have  an  opportunity 


THE  GOVERNOR  S  STORY.  7I 

of  submitting  it  before  long,  in  whole  or  in  part,  to 
the  authorities  at  the  British  Musuem,  who  would 
doubtless  be  willing  to  pay  a  reasonable  price  for  it. 

**  That  was  all.  No  remittance,  no  installment,  no 
sale  even.  Nothing  at  all  had  been  done.  Only  a 
vague  hope  or  conditional  promise.  Heaven  knew 
how  long  yet  I  might  have  to  wait  for  my  money. 

"  And  I  was  penniless,  meanwhile,  and  starving  at 
Bahia." 

The  dignified  old  man  wiped  his  brow  once  more. 
Great  drops  stood  on  it  visibly.  It  was  clear  the  re- 
membrance was  painfully  real  to  him. 

*'  How  I  ever  got  through  the  next  three  weeks," 
he  went  on,  after  a  long  deep  pause,  moistening  his 
lips  with  coffee,  "  I  don't  know  to  this  day.  I  can't 
bear  to  look  upon  it.  I  took  a  room  in  a  negro  hut, 
by  pawning  my  last  change  of  clothes,  and  there  I 
lived  on,  watching  and  waiting  for  another  mail  from 
England.  Through  the  day  I  skulked  ;  in  the  evening 
I  lounged  about  the  streets ;  and  men  whose  acquaint- 
ance I'd  picked  up  while  I  was  in  Bahia  offered  me 
drinks  in  the  saloons — but  never  any  food — and  I  was 
starving — starving.  Drink,  drink,  drink — but  not  a 
meal,  or  a  mouthful.  I  hung  around  the  market  in 
the  early  morning,  and  picked  up  morsels  of  jam,  or 
little  bits  of  bread-fruit,  or  stale  mangoes,  that  even 
the  negroes  rejected,  or  half  bad  oranges,  flung  away 
into  the  gutter.  That  was  all  I  had  to  eat,  and  as  to 
work  or  money,  none  could  be  had  anywhere.  To 
the  Brazilians  I  was  useless,  because  I  spoke  very 
little  Portuguese,  and  that  little  picked  up  from  the 
slaves  up  country,  and  when  I  called  upon  the  English 
merchants   of  the  place,  they  surveyed   me   through 


/2  STRANGE   STORIES. 

their  spectacles  with  very  critical  eyes — *  An  unfor- 
tunate Englishman  !  Drink,  drink,  no  doubt.  Why, 
he  smells  of  rum  this  minute,  Jones.  Sorry  to  say, 
my  friend,  we  can  do  nothing  for  you.* 

"So  I  hung  around  the  saloons,  with  part  of  the, 
manuscript  of  *  Life  and  its  Origins*  actually  in  my 
pocket — I  with  my  scientific  tastes  and  my  philosophic 
yearnings — and  took  the  rum  strangers  offered  me,  for 
very  want  of  food,  and  because  I  was  a  great  deal  too 
hungry  and  weak  to  refuse  anything  on  earth  with  a 
lump  of  sugar  in  it.  Sometimes  I  got  a  biscuit  into 
the  bargain  as  well,  but  that  was  rarely ;  most  often  it 
was  rum — rum,  rum,  alone — till  I  wonder  at  myself 
that  I  didn't  sink  offhand  into  a  miserable  drunkard. 
It  was  an  awful  time.  It  makes  my  head  reel  to 
recall  it. 

"  At  last,  one  day,  when  three  weeks  were  over,  and 
no  English  mail  to  my  knowledge  had  yet  arrived,  I 
stood  in  my  ragged  clothes  and  with  my  hungry  face 
in  a  saloon  in  the  town,  when  suddenly  a  man  whom  I 
knew  came  in,  and  looked  at  me  steadily. 

" '  Hullo,  Spence,'  he  said,  with  a  start  of  surprise, 
*  you  look  down  in  the  mouth  this  morning.  Cheer 
up,  old  fellow.  The  English  mail's  in,  and  there's 
money  for  you  at  the  Bank  in  the  Rua  do  Commercio.* 

"  I  stared  at  him  in  suspense.  He  was  a  practical 
joker.  I  knew  his  tricks  well.  I  was  afraid  to  be- 
lieve him.  Perhaps  he  didn't  realize  what  a  matter  of 
life  and  death  that  mail  was  to  me.  Perhaps  he  was 
only  trying,  as  he  himself  would  have  said,  to  take  a 
good  rise  out  of  me. 

"^You  really  mean  it?'  I  gasped  out.  'You*re  in 
earnest,  not  hoaxing  me  ?' 


THE  governor's   STORY.  73 

"  *  Honor  bright !'  he  answered,  laughing.  *  Take 
my  davy  on  it  any  day.  The  cashier's  a  chum  of  mine  ; 
and  he  told  me  just  now,  if  I  met  Spence  lounging 
about  anywhere  in  the  bars,  to  tell  him  there  was 
money  waiting  for  him  straight  out  from  England.' 

"  My  fingers  trembled.  My  knees  shook.  I  went 
round  in  a  fever  to  the  Rua  do  Commercio.  When  I 
reached  the  bank  steps,  I  didn't  dare  to  go  in.  My 
head  swam  with  hunger,  and  rum,  and  despair.  How 
dare  I  ask  for  money  in  such  rags  as  these?  How 
dare  I  present  myself,  even,  in  a  respectable  counting- 
house  ?     I  was  ashamed  to  enter. 

**  For  ten  minutes  or  more  I  stood  there,  in  doubt, 
leaning  up  against  the  lintel,  afraid  to  move  ;  then  at 
last  I  plucked  up  courage  to  push  open  the  door,  and 
stagger  to  the  counter.  The  cashier  was  an  English- 
man. *  Any  money  to  my  credit  ?*  I  faltered  out, 
with  tremulous  lips.  *  My  name  is  Spence.  I'm  ex- 
pecting a  remittance.' 

"'Certainly,  sir,*  he  answered.  'Mr.  Everard 
Spence  :  bill  of  exchange  came  in  to-day  for  four 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  thirteen  shillings.  To  your 
order  at  sight.     How  will  you  take  it  ?' 

"  I  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf.  It  was  nothing  to 
him,  but  to  me  it  was  light,  life,  deliverance.  I  sat 
down  and  buried  my  face  in  my  hands.  I  was  saved. 
Fred  was  saved.  Four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
seemed  wealth  untold.  It  was  more  than  in  our  wild- 
est dreams  we'd  ever  dared  to  hope  for. 

"  But  ever  since  that  day,  I  assure  you,  Pearson,  I've 
always  had  a  very  sympathetic  feeling  for  unfortunate 
Englishmen  who  take  to  drink  in  the  tropics." 


DICK  PROTHERO  S  LUCK. 


I. 

That  farm  in  Manitoba  was  always  an  unlucky  one. 
From  the  very  first  day  when  Dick  Prothero  left  the 
West  Cornwall  Rangers,  and  took  him  a  wife,  deter- 
mined to  settle  down  to  agricultural  retirement  in  the 
Far  West,  a  fatal  ill-fortune  seemed  to  dog  and  pursue 
him  with  merciless  persistence.  At  least,  so  Dick 
said ;  though  people  who  knew  Manitoba  better, 
doubted  within  themselves  whether  the  discipline  of 
the  messroom  in  a  crack  regiment,  where  Dick  had 
stood  junior  captain  on  the  list,  was  quite  the  sort  of 
thing  to  prepare  a  man  beforehand  for  becoming  a 
vigorous  and  successful  farmer  in  a  raw  community. 
At  any  rate,  things  somehow  didn't  seem  to  prosper 
with  Dick  Prothero.  The  horses  were  always  getting 
glanders  at  unhappy  moments  ;  the  cows  were  always 
poisoning  themselves  with  uncanny  prairie  weeds  ;  the 
rain  was  always  rough  on  the  standing  hay ;  the  fall 
wheat  was  always  getting  nipped  by  the  first  sharp 
frosts  of  a  Canadian  springtide.  Dick  worked  as  hard, 
to  be  sure,  as  a  man  could  work ;  but  he  didn't  work 
the  right  way  on,  so  experts  said — all  his  energy  and 
good  will  were  quite  thrown  away  through  his  want  of 
knowledge  of  practical  farming. 
[74] 


DICK    PROTIIERO'S   LUCK.  75 

The  worst  of  it  was,  too,  Manitoba  didn't  agree  with 
Bertha,  and  that  was  Dick's  greatest  cross  of  all.  For 
himself,  he  didn't  much  mind  the  small  frame  house, 
the  long  cold  winter  when  the  grouse  was  on  the  wing, 
or  the  changeable  spring  with  its  teal  and  wild  duck. 
A  strong  and  hearty  young  man,  with  a  sound  consti- 
tution and  a  natural  love  of  outdoor  sport,  can  put  up 
with  roughing  it  for  himself  very  well,  in  those  wild 
west  countries.  But  to  see  his  pretty  young  English 
wife,  delicately  bred  and  nurtured  in  a  Devonshire 
Rectory,  shrinking  from  the  privations  of  the  frozen 
prairie — that  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  makes  a  man 
regret  he  hadn't  invested  his  money  instead  at  two  and 
three-quarters  per  cent,  in  the  munificent  hands  of  the 
Right  Honorable  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer. 
If  Dick  could  have  done  it,  he'd  have  sold  his  farm  ; 
but  it's  always  easier  to  buy  land  anywhere  in  the 
world  than  sell  it ;  so  Dick  had  to  hang  on  as  best  he 
might,  hoping  for  better  times  and  a  turn  in  the  real 
estate  market. 

Still,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  little  Daisy  and  his  brother 
Archie,  Dick,  who  was  a  sentimental,  rather  melo- 
dramatically-minded young  man  (in  spite  of  his  Sand- 
hurst training),  would  sometimes  have  sat  down 
despondent  in  the  frame  house,  with  a  fixed  determin- 
ation to  blow  his  unlucky  brains  out.  But  little  Daisy, 
thank  heaven,  was  as  strong  as  a  toy  Shetland  pony ; 
and  Archie,  good  fellow,  was  always  helpful  and  always 
cheery,  even  when  the  rain  came  and  spoiled  the  har- 
vest. Archie  was  the  best  brother  any  man  in  this 
world  ever  had  ;  nobody  could  help  being  cheered  and 
helped  on  by  that  dear,  good  Archie. 

The  frame  house  where  they  all  lived  together — 


76  STRANGE  STORIES. 

Dick  and  his  wife,  and  little  Daisy,  and  Archie — was 
situated  a  good  many  miles  from  anywhere,  and  at  a 
great  distance  from  Winnipeg,  the  centre  of  mushroom 
civilization  in  the  Canadian  Northwest  at  the  present 
moment.  It  was  altogether  about  as  dreary  a  place  as 
any  fellow  could  well  ask  a  young  English  wife  to 
settle  in.  It  stood  alone  upon  the  wide  open  prairie, 
a  square,  bare  box,  just  perched  upon  the  soil,  with 
doors  and  windows  like  those  of  a  German  toy  house, 
and  with  not  a  tree  or  shrub  standing  anywhere  in 
sight  of  it.  In  front  you  looked  out  upon  the  waving 
plain  of  grass  and  cornfield — monotonous,  arid,  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  with  only  a  few  more  equally 
square  and  bare  little  wooden  shanties  dotted  about 
here  and  there  to  relieve  its  utter  blank  of  sameness 
and  dreariness.  Sometimes  in  dry  weather  the  whole 
unvaried  plain  caught  fire  at  once,  from  some  careless 
pipe  or  match,  and  then  the  smoke  of  it  went  up  to 
heaven  in  a  great  dusky  column,  and  the  flames 
marched  abreast  like  an  army  over  the  land,  and  the 
farmers  defended  their  own  houses  and  yards  as  best 
they  might  by  cutting  down  and  wetting  the  grass  all 
round  ;  and  next  morning  nothing  remained  of  the 
year's  labors  but  a  vast  black  desert,  smoking  dismal 
and  gray  to  the  lurid  sky,  where  yesterday  had  been 
whole  acres  of  corn  and  meadow  land.  Those  are  the 
chances  of  war  in  the  great  Northwest — the  chances  of 
that  terrible  pioneer  warfare  which  man  wages  single- 
handed  with  valorous  heart  against  the  fierce,  blind 
powers  of  unconscious  nature. 

And  in  this  bare,  bleak  house,  with  its  unlovely  sur- 
roundings, gentle  and  delicately  nurtured  English 
Bertha  had  to  live  by  herself,  for  the  most  part  servant- 


DICK  PROTIIERO'S   LUCK.  ^f 

less.  Now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  some  raw  Irish  lass, 
fresh  out  from  the  Ould  Counthry,  with  a  bright  red 
face,  and  a  fine,  rich  brogue,  would  accept  for  a  week 
or  two  a  situation  as  general  help,  to  assist  in  the 
cooking  and  take  care  of  Daisy.  But  at  the  end  of  a 
fortnight  the  help  usually  came  in  and  informed 
Bertha,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  she  found  it 
"  lonesome,"  and  that  if  Bertha  would  "  suit  herself  " 
when  the  month  was  up,  she'd  like  to  go  back  to  a 
place  in  Winnipeg.  Bertha,  as  a  rule,  did  not  succeed 
at  all  in  suiting  herself ;  so  she  had  to  do  all  the  cook- 
ing, and  washing,  and  nursing,  and  mending,  more  than 
half  her  time  for  those  two  strong  men  and  for  little 
Daisy. 

Dick,  being  a  tender-hearted,  sentimental  fellow, 
could  have  cried  his  eyes  out  (only  that  he  was 
ashamed),  when  he  thought  of  the  sort  of  life  he  had 
brought  that  sweet,  pretty  little  English  wife  to. 
There  are  plenty  more  of  his  sort  in  the  West.  Young 
man,  stop  East.  Don't  you  go  and  be  fooled  by  de- 
lusive promises  into  following  his  example. 


II. 


That  summer  was  very  hot  and  dry,  and  things 
went  even  worse  with  the  Protheros  than  usual.  In 
the  hay  season  Bertha  fell  ill  with  fever,  and  as  she 
was  then  in  her  chronic  servantless  condition,  for 
weeks  Dick  had  hard  work  to  nurse  and  tend  her.  At 
last,  however,  she  began  to  come  round  again  ;  and 
one  sunny  morning  in  the  August  drought,  she  rose 


78  STRANGE  STORIES. 

and  lay  on  the  sofa  in  the  little  living-room,  by  the 
open  window,  looking  out  upon  all  the  view  there  was 
— the  great  blank  prairie  and  the  desolate  cornfields. 
Dick  brought  little  Daisy  and  placed  her  by  her  side  ; 
and  Bertha,  though  still  too  weak  to  walk,  seemed  so 
cheerful  and  happy  at  the  mere  sight  of  the  fields,  that 
Dick  almost  felt  as  if  that  long-expected  turn  in  his 
luck  were  coming  at  last,  and  things  were  going  to 
mend  in  Manitoba.  He  made  everything  snug  in  the 
bare  small  parlor  for  poor  pale  Bertha,  and  then  he 
saddled  his  horse  and  rode  off,  better  pleased,  to  see 
how  business  looked  after  so  many  days  absence  in  the 
dip  by  the  river. 

When  he  got  there  the  corn  [was  certainly  most 
promising,  and  all  was  going  well  with  the  ripening 
crops  for  the  agricultural  interest.  By  a  rare  chance, 
too,  he  met  a  neighbor  by  the  stream,  and  they  stopped 
long  chatting  about  the  Boom  at  Regina  and  the  Chi- 
cago futures,  and  the  probability  of  an  advance  in 
spring  wheat  next  Winnipeg  market.  The  neighbor 
was  hopeful,  like  Dick  himself.  Land  was  on  the  rise, 
he  said,  in  their  own  section,  and  a  great  development, 
a  great  development,  sir,  was,  as  sure  as  fate,  in  store 
for  Manitoba.  A  magnificent  country,  and  it  was 
going  to  be  developed. 

Dick  hoped  so  in  his  heart,  and  that  land  would  rise 
till  he  could  get  his  own  price  back  again  for  his  own 
farm,  take  Bertha  home  to  her  native  shores,  show 
little  Daisy  what  was  meant  by  a  decent  road,  and 
leave  the  development  of  that  magnificent  country  to 
the  more  capable  hands  and  arms  of  others. 

At  last  he  wheeled  round  his  horse  once  more,  and 


DICK  PROTHERO*S   LUCK.  79 

after  riding  about  for  a  couple  of  hours,  surveying 
the  soil,  he  made  towards  home  across  the  open 
prairie. 

As  he  did  so,  a  sickening  horror  seized  upon  his 
soul.  He  looked  in  front  of  him  and  shaded  his  eyes, 
incredulous.  Great  heavens,  what  he  saw  was  all  too 
true.     No  farmhouse  visible. 

Other  houses  were  there,  to  be  sure,  each  standing 
in  its  place  over  the  vast  plain,  at  wide  intervals,  and 
each  marked  by  a  long  blue  line  of  smoke,  where  the 
"  smudges"  or  fly-dispersers  were  burning  in  front  of 
them  to  keep  off  the  mosquitoes.  A  smudge,  in  North- 
w^estern  parlance,  is  a  fire  of  turf  kept  alight  in  a  sort 
of  standing  iron  cage  or  basket,  which  smoulders  away 
for  hours  at  a  time,  and  is  peculiarly  offensive  to  the 
senses  of  insects.  But  though  the  smudge  still 
smoked  in  front  of  the  place  where  his  own  house  had 
once  stood,  not  a  sign  of  the  house  itself  remained 
anywhere  visible.  Dick  shaded  his  eyes  and  looked  in 
vain.     It  had  melted  from  the  scene  as  if  by  magic. 

At  the  sight  the  strong  man's  heart  sank  down  with 
horror  and  awe  within  him.  He  knew  what  it  meant  ; 
he  was  too  old  a  hand,  indeed,  in  the  ways  of  Manitoba 
not  to  realize  at  a  glance  what  a  terrible,  unspeakable 
thing  had  happened.  The  house  had  been  burnt 
down  to  the  ground  in  his  absence. 

And  Bertha?  And  Daisy?  He  grew  pale  w'th 
terror.  Unless  Archie  had  saved  them,  heaven  only 
knew  what  nameless  misfortune  might  have  fallen 
upon  them.  And  Archie  was  away  in  the  Swale  with 
the  wagon. 

With  a  wild  cry  of  despair,  the  unhappy  man  urged 
his  horse  forward,  and  never  paused   for  breath  till  he 


80  STRANGE  STORIES. 

drew  rein  at  last  by  the  smouldering  remains  of  the 
charred  and  desolate  farmhouse. 

There,  the  whole  truth  came  upon  him  in  all  its  aw- 
ful vividness. 

In  front  of  the  yard,  the  smudge  lay  on  the  ground, 
overturned,  and  still  feebly  burning.  From  the 
smudge  to  the  spot  where  the  house  once  stood,  a 
path  of  fire  lay  traced  on  the  dry  grass,  widening  from 
windward.  Even  in  the  first  burst  of  his  horror  and 
grief,  the  poor  trembling  husband  and  father  felt  in 
stinctively  just  what  had  occurred.  RoUo,  the  pointef , 
had  upset  the  smudge,  and  the  fire  had  run  from  it 
before  the  wind  through  the  parched  grass,  and  set  in 
a  blaze  the  frail  timber  tenement. 

The  rest  was  obvious.  Those  frame  houses  of  the 
West,  when  once  alight,  burn  to  the  ground  with  aw- 
ful rapidity  in  a  few  brief  minutes.  Constructed  as 
they  are  of  light  pitch  pine,  all  wooden  throughout, 
and  slight  into  the  bargain,  they  leave  at  the  end  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  nothing  to  mark  the  spot  where 
they  once  stood,  save  a  pile  of  gray  and  smouldering 
ashes. 

That  was  all  that  remained  of  Dick  Prothero's  home. 
And  Bertha,  and  Daisy,  must  have  been  burnt  or 
smothered  before  they  could  move  from  the  sofa  by 
the  window. 

Unmanned  with  horror,  Dick  leaped  from  his  horse, 
and  strode  over  to  the  smouldering,  smoking  ruins. 
For  a  minute  or  two  he  was  stupefied  by  the  awful 
suddenness  of  that  crushing  blow.  He  sat  down  on 
the  ground,  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  rocked 
himself  idly  to  and  fro  in  the  first  full  bitterness  of  his 
speechless  agony. 


DICK   PROTHERO'S  LUCK.  8 1 

And  the  very  last  words  little  Daisy  had  said  to  him 
as  he  rode  away  were,  "  Turn  back  soon,  Papa.  Daisy 
wants  to  play  with  'oo." 


III. 


Ten  minutes  after  Dick  had  left  the  house  Archie 
had  driven  up  in  front  of  the  door,  and  seeing  Bertha 
lying  on  the  sofa  at  the  open  window,  had  cried  out  to 
her  cheerily,  in  his  good-humored  fashion,  "  Come 
along,  Bertha  ;  you're  convalescent  now.  A  bit  of 
fresh  air'U  do  you  all  the  good  in  the  world,  I  bet  you. 
I'm  going  to  drive  in  to  the  post  office  at  Swalebor- 
ough.     You  may  as  well  come  with  me." 

"  Oh,  Archie,  I  couldn't,"  Bertha  cried,  all  aghast. 
"  I'm  only  just  up  out  of  bed  to-day,  and  the  wagon's 
so  dreadfully,  dreadfully  jolty." 

"  Nonsense,"  Archie  answered,  jumping  down  and 
coming  over  to  her.  "  I'll  fetch  down  the  mattress  out 
of  the  servants'  room — it  don't  get  much  slept  upon  ; 
lay  it  in  the  wagon  with  a  couple  of  pillows;  carry  you 
out  and  set  you  in  comfortably  ;  and  there  you  are  at 
once  fixed  up,  as  the  Yankees  say,  as  well  as  you'd  be 
in  an  English  victoria." 

**  Oh,  do!"  Daisy  cried,  clapping  her  little  hands. 
"  Oh,  do,  mamma,  for  it  amuses  Daisy." 

So  in  three  minutes  more,  with  Archie's  strong  arms 
to  help,  the  thing  was  done.  Bertha,  wrapped  round 
in  a  big  buffalo  skin,  was  laid  in  the  wagon  ;  Daisy 
was  installed  on  a  pillow  by  her  side,  and  the  three 
drove  off,  laughing  and  talking,  with  fresh  hope  in 
their  hearts,  as  merry  as  crickets. 


82  STRANGE  STORIES. 

"Where's  Rollo,  uncle  Archie?"  Daisy  asked,  as 
they  jolted  along  over  the  rough  plain,  though  Archie 
drove  as  carefully  as  he  could  to  save  Bertha  any  un- 
necessary shaking. 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right,"  Archie  answered,  smiling. 
"  He'll  come  along  soon.     Here,  Rollo,  Rollo  !" 

At  the  word,  Rollo  leaped  up  from  the  mat  where 
he  was  dozing  in  the  sun,  and  followed  the  wagon  with 
a  bound  of  delight.  They  didn't  notice,  however,  that 
as  he  came  he  had  upset  the  smudge,  and  that  the 
turves  were  smoking  on  the  dry  grass  in  front  of  the 
window. 

Bertha  had  never  enjoyed  a  drive  so  much.  In 
spite  of  the  wagon  and  the  jolting  road,  it  was  so  de- 
lightful to  be  out  in  the  fresh  air  once  more,  and  to 
feel  the  motion  and  the  free  breeze  of  heaven.  Little 
Daisy  enjoyed  it  all  so  thoroughly,  too,  and  made  her 
mother's  heart  more  glad  by  sympathy.  And  when  at 
last,  after  their  long  drive,  they  got  to  the  post,  there 
were  letters  from  home,  such  cheerful  letters,  with 
talk  of  Bertha's  shares  in  that  unfortunate  concern  at 
the  Cape  (which  her  uncle  had  left  her),  going  up  at 
last,  so  that  perhaps  they  might  in  time  be  able  to 
return  to  dear  old  England.  Bertha  turned  to  go  back, 
feeling  ever  so  much  better,  and  longing  to  tell  the 
good  news  to  dear  Dick,  who  had  been  so  terribly 
down  on  his  luck  just  lately. 


DICK  PROTIIERO'S   LUCK.  83 


IV. 

But  Dick,  among  the  smouldering  ruins  of  his  lost 
house,  was  sitting  still,  in  an  agony  of  despair,  rocking 
himself  to  and  fro  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  and 
overwhelmed  with  this  awful  fate  of  Bertha  and 
Daisy. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  there,  incapable  of  thought 
or  act,  or  motion  ;  sat  there  like  one  dazed  by  his  ter- 
rible loss,  holding  his  face  between  his  palms  in  his 
misery,  and  incapable  even  of  realizing  his  own  deso- 
late position.  But  at  last  he  rose,  determined  to 
know  the  worst,  and  began  with  a  pick  that  was  lying 
near  to  turn  ever  the  hot  ashes,  in  the  vain  attempt  to 
find  some  charred  and  mangled  remains  of  his  wife 
and  child,  if  anything  was  left  of  them.  He  turned 
the  ashes  over  carefully,  but  the  fire  had  indeed  done 
its  work  well.  Not  a  stick  or  plank,  not  a  beam  or 
rafter,  not  a  leg  of  chair,  or  sofa  or  table,  remained 
distinguishable  among  all  that  heap  of  gray  and  cal- 
cined relics.  Only  the  frames  of  the  iron  bedsteads 
and  a  few  castors  and  other  metal  objects  were  to  be 
found  in  any  recognizable  shape.  The  rest  was  mere 
cinder  or  white  powdery  ashes. 

In  the  depths  of  his  despair  Dick  looked  around  for 
Archie.  But  Archie,  too,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and 
Dick  remembered  he  had  talked  in  the  morning  about 
going  into  Swaleborough.  The  first  apathy  of  grief 
had  worn  off  now,  and  Dick  had  reached  that  second 
active  stage  of  wild  despondency  when  a  man  feels  he 
must  go   at  once  and   maim  or  kill  himself.     As  he 


84  STRANGE   STORIES. 

fumbled  among  the  ashes,  digging  deeper  and  deeper, 
a  weird  idea  seemed  to  frame  itself  within  him.  Since 
all  that  remained  of  Bertha  and  Daisy  lay  there  in 
those  ashes,  he  would  dig  a  grave  on  the  very  spot 
where  they  had  died — those  two  that  were  dearest  to 
him — throw  the  ashes  into  it,  and  then  shoot  himself 
there  above  the  relics  of  his  loved  ones.  When  Archie 
came  back  with  the  wagon  from  Swaleborough,  he 
would  find  no  house,  but  an  open  grave,  and  his 
brother's  dead  body,  stark  and  bleeding  within  it. 

It  was  one  of  those  awful  melo-dramatic  ideas  vhich 
sometimes  occur  with  irresistible  force  to  such  minds 
as  Dick  Prothero's  at  a  great  crisis  in  their  lives  ;  and 
its  very  weirdness  commended  it  to  his  inflamed  fancy. 
He  proceeded  at  once,  with  the  energy  of  despair,  to 
carry  the  mad  notion  into  actual  practice.  He  took 
up  the  spade  which  lay  in  the  back  yard,  untouched 
by  the  fire,  and  began  to  dig  and  dig,  to  drown  his 
misery  for  awhile  in  the  mere  act  of  digging.  If 
Archie  had  been  there,  he  might  have  groaned  and 
cried  ;  but  in  his  utter  solitude,  alone  with  the  prairie 
and  his  vanished  wife  and  child,  he  dug  and  dug,  with 
feverish  energy,  for  very  need  of  some  vicient  occupa- 
tion. He  dug  as  he  never  knew  he  could  dig  before, 
with  the  wild  maniac  strength  of  a  terrible  sorrow. 

As  he  dug,  the  ashes  and  the  smoke  blinded  his  eyes, 
and  the  fumes  from  the  fire  rose  up  and  choked  him. 
But  still  he  dug  on,  going  deeper  and  deeper,  and 
flinging  out  the  earth  with  fierce  and  frantic  eagerness. 
He  must  get  it  all  done  before  Archie  came  back  ;  and 
at  the  very  first  sound  of  Archie's  wheels  in  the  dis- 
tance, he  must  pull  out  his  revolver,  finished  or  not 


DICK  PROTHERO*S  LUCK.  8$ 

finished,  and  shoot  himself  dead  before  Archie's  eyes 
in  the  grave  he  had  dug  himself. 

He  had  got  down  now  into  a  deep  subsoil,  thick  and 
clayey,  and  hard  to  cut  through  ;  but  he  went  on 
nevertheless,  digging  it  square  and  even,  and  taking 
care  to  throw  the  clay  w^ell  out  of  the  way,  where  it 
wouldn't  interfere  with  those  sacred  ashes.  His  eyes 
were  blinded  with  tears  and  smoke  and  the  dust  from 
the  pile  ;  but  still  he  continued.  He  came  across 
little  stones  in  the  clay  now  and  again.  His  spade 
struck  against  them  from  time  to  time,  or  even  cut 
into  them,  for  they  were  mere  soft  nodules.  But  he 
shovelled  them  out  with  the  rest  of  the  dirt,  and  went 
blindly  on  at  his  ghastly  occupation. 

Presently,  as  he  worked,  the  sound  of  distant  wheels 
fell  on  his  ear.  It  was  Archie  coming  back  !  It  he 
meant  to  carry  his  scheme  into  execution  he  must 
make  haste  now.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  If 
Archie  arrived  he  would  disarm  him  and  prevent  him. 
Frantic  with  grief  he  pulled  out  his  revolver  and  held 
it  close  to  his  left  temple.  For  one  awful  second  he 
paused  and  prayed.  He  knew  he  was  mad — what 
man  would  not  go  mad  in  face  of  such  a  blow? — but, 
all  the  same,  he  prayed  wildly  for  forgiveness.  Then 
he  snapped  the  trigger  right  against  his  brow,  and 
waited  to  know  he  was  really  dying. 

A  terrible  moment  of  suspense  followed.  What  had 
gone  wrong  ?  The  revolver  had  clearly  hung  fire 
somehow !  He  had  never  known  that  trusty  weapon 
serve  him  such  a  trick  in  his  life  before.  He  took  it 
down  and  looked  at  it  carefully.  As  he  did  so  the 
cartridge  went  off  in  his  hands,  and  the  bullet  buried 
itself  in  the  deep  clay  bottom.     What  luck,  to  be  sure ! 


86  STRANGE   STORIES. 

The  very  powers  of  inanimate  nature  seemed  to  fight 
against  him  !  Why,  he  couldn't  even  succeed  in  kill- 
ing himself  comfortably  when  he  tried  to  do  so.  He 
raised  the  pistol  angrily  to  his  head  once  more.  This 
time,  at  least,  he'd  take  care  it  didn't  miss  and  disap- 
point him. 

But  before  he  could  fire  again  a  terrible  thrill  ran 
through  his  brain  ;  a  thrill  that  made  him  drop  the 
revolver  in  his  amazement.  For  he  heard,  from  the 
direction  where  the  wagon  was  advancing,  a  cry  of  sur- 
prise— a  child's  cry  of  simple  wonder  and  astonishment. 
The  cry  went  through  him  like  a  flash  of  pain.  But  it 
was  joy  that  unnerved  him  !  Then,  Daisy,  at  least, 
was  safe  !  Daisy  had  gone  with  Archie  in  the  wagon  ! 
It  was  Daisy's  voice  ;  and  for  Daisy's  sake,  at  any  rate, 
he  dared  not  kill  himself. 

He  raised  himself  to  the  top  of  that  strange  grave  on 
both  his  elbows  and  looked  around  with  dim  vision  to 
see  what  had  happened.  His  eyes  were  still  blinded 
by  the  smoke  and  ash,  and  he  could  hardly  make  out 
who  was  in  the  wagon.  Then  with  another  wild  burst 
of  gratitude  and  joy  he  heard  another  voice  he  had 
never  expected  to  hear  again.  Contrary  to  all  proba- 
bility, all  possibility  almost,  Bertha  was  there  as  well 
as  Daisy  and  Archie. 

He  flung  down  the  spade  in  a  strange  access  of 
delight  and  rushed  to  the  wagon.  To  the  rest,  it  was  a 
moment  of  surprise  and  terror,  to  see  the  house  burnt 
down,  and  that  gaunt,  wan  man  in  his  grimy  shirt 
sleeves,  all  stained  with  smoke  and  dirt,  darting  wildly 
out  like  some  madman  to  greet  them.  But  to  Dick,  it 
was  a  moment  of  unspeakable  joy.  House  and  land 
were  forgotten  altogether  in  the  sudden  revulsion  of 


DICK   PROTHERO'S   LUCK.  87 

intense  delight  with  which  he  saw  his  wife  and  child 
brought  back  to  him  from  the  dead  again. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  each  party  could  under- 
stand exactly  what  had  happened,  for  at  first  Dick 
could  only  look  on  and  laugh  and  cry  like  a  maniac, 
and  take  Daisy  up  in  his  arms  over  and  over  again,  and 
lay  Bertha  down  on  the  ground,  crying,  upon  her  mat- 
tress. But  after  awhile  they  grew  more  calm,  and  in 
broken  words  explained  how  things  had  fared  on  either 
side  with  either  of  them.  As  to  the  grave  and  the  re- 
volver. Indeed,  Dick  remained  for  the  moment  dis- 
creetly silent  ;  but  the  rest,  he  told  as  well  as  he  was 
able  in  brief  sobbing  sentences.  Then  they  kissed  one 
another  once  more,  that  husband  and  wife,  so  strangely 
restored,  and  wept  with  thankfulness,  all  houseless  and 
homeless,  alone  on  the  prairie. 

Presently  Archie  broke  the  solemn  silence. 

"  We  must  take  Bertha  somewhere  for  to-night,"  he 
said  gazing  round  ruefully.  "  Perhaps  they  could  give 
us  a  bed  at  McDougall's." 

They  raised  the  mattress  into  the  wagon  again,  and 
were  going  to  lay  Bertha  back  on  her  improvised  in- 
valid's couch,  when  Bertha  cried  out,  '*  Oh,  look  at 
Daisy,  Dick  ;  what's  that  she's  doing  over  there  on  that 
dirt-heap  yonder?" 

Dick  turned  round,  and  with  his  bloodshot  eyes,  saw 
dimly  that  Daisy  was  trying  to  suck  one  of  the  round- 
ish pebbles  he  had  struck  his  spade  against  so  often  in 
<^iggirig'  It  was  a  pebble  as  big  as  a  hen's  egg,  and  he 
was  afraid  the  child  would  fairly  choke  herself  with  it. 
But  he  would  not  go  near  that  open  grave  himself, 
from  which  he  had  been  preserved  almost  by  a  miracle. 
It  fairly  daunted  him. 


88  STRANGE   STORIES. 

"  Go  over  and  fetch  her,  Archie,"  he  cried  in  a  tone 
of  command.     And  Archie  went  to  her. 

But  Daisy  didn't  want  to  be  deprived  of  her  pebble. 

It's  pretty,'*  she  said,  and  went  on  sucking  at  it. 

Archie  snatched  it  from  her.  "  Why,  Dick,"  he  ex- 
claimed, looking  close  at  the  rough  lump,  and  pressing 
it  with  his  nail,  "what  on  earth's  this  ?  It's  as  soft  as 
lead,  and  as  yellow  as  a  guinea  !" 

Then  he  burst  into  a  sudden  loud  laugh  of  triumph. 
Dick  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  thinking  the  painful 
drama  of  the  last  two  hours  must  have  fairly  made 
Archie  lose  his  senses.  But  Archie  waved  the  pebble 
frantically  round  his  head  with  a  strange  air  of  victory. 
"  Dick,  Dick,"  he  cried,  in  his  joy,  *'  luck's  turned  at 
last;  they're  nuggets!  they're  nuggets  !" 

And  that's  just  how  Dick  Prothero  found  the  first 
rich  paying  placer  of  alluvial  gold  that  ever  was  dis- 
covered in  Manitoba. 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  GREEDY. 


I. 


*•  On  Sunday  next,  the  14th  inst.,  the  Reverend 
John  Greedy,  B.  A.,  of  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  will 
preach  in  Walton  Magna  Church,  on  behalf  of  the 
Gold  Coast  Mission."  Not  a  very  startling  announce- 
ment that,  and  yet  simple  as  it  looks,  it  stirred  Ethel 
Berry's  soul  to  its  inmost  depths.  For  Ethel  had  been 
brought  up  by  her  Aunt  Emily  to  look  upon  foreign 
missions  as  the  one  thing  on  earth  worth  living  for  and 
thinking  about,  and  the  Reverend  John  Creedy,  B.  A.» 
had  a  missionary  history  of  his  own,  strange  enough 
even  in  these  strange  days  of  queer  juxtapositions  be- 
tween utter  savagery  and  advanced  civilization. 

"  Only  think,"  she  said  to  her  aunt,  as  they  read  the 
placard  on  the  schoolhouse-board,  "he's  a  real  African 
negro,  the  vicar  says,  taken  from  a  slaver  on  the  Gold 
Coast  when  he  was  a  child,  and  brought  to  England  to 
be  educated.  He's  been  to  Oxford  and  got  a  degree  ; 
and  now  he's  going  out  again  to  Africa  to  convert  his 
own  people.  And  he's  coming  down  to  the  vicar's  to 
stay  on  Wednesday." 

"  It's  my  belief,"  said  old  Uncle  James,  Aunt  Emily's 
brother,  the  superannuated  skipper,  "  that  he'd  much 
better  stop  in  England  for  ever.  I've  been  a  good  bit 
on  the  Coast  myself  in  my  time,  after  palm  oil  and 

I89] 


90  STRANGE  STORIES. 

such,  and  my  opinion  is  that  a  nigger's  a  nigger  any- 
where, but  he's  a  sight  less  of  a  nigger  in  England  than 
out  yonder  in  Africa.  Take  him  to  England,  and  you 
make  a  gentleman  of  him  ;  send  him  home  again,  and 
the  nigger  comes  out  at  once  in  spite  of  you." 

"  Oh,  James,"  Aunt  Emily  put  in,  *'  how  can  you 
talk  such  unchristianlike  talk,  setting  yourself  up 
against  missions,  when  we  know  that  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth  are  made  of  one  blood  ?" 

"  I've  always  lived  a  Christian  life  myself,  Emily," 
answered  Uncle  James,  "  though  I  have  cruised  a  good 
bit  on  the  Coast,  too,  which  is  against  it  certainly ; 
but  I  take  it  a  nigger's  a  nigger  whatever  you  do  with 
him.  The  Ethiopian  cannot  change  his  skin,  the 
Scripture  says,  nor  the  leopard  his  spots,  and  a  nig- 
ger he'll  be  to  the  end  of  his  days ;  you  mark  my 
words,  Emily." 

On  Wednesday,  in  due  course,  the  Reverend  John 
Creedy  arrived  at  the  vicarage,  and  much  curiosity 
there  was  throughout  the  village  of  Walton  Magna 
that  week  to  see  this  curious  new  thing,  a  coal-black 
parson.  Next  day,  Thursday,  an  almost  equally  un- 
usual event  occurred  to  Ethel  Berry,  for,  to  her  great 
surprise,  she  got  a  little  note  in  the  morning  inviting 
her  up  to  a  tennis  party  at  the  vicarage  the  same  after- 
noon. Now  though  the  vicar  called  on  Aunt  Emily 
often  enough,  and  accepted  her  help  readily  for  school 
feasts  and  other  village  festivities  of  the  milder  sort, 
the  Berrys  were  hardly  up  to  that  level  of  society 
which  is  commonly  invited  to  the  parson's  lawn  tennis 
parties.  And  the  reason  why  Ethel  was  asked  on 
this  particular  Thursday  must  be  traced  to  a  certain 
'  pious  conspiracy  between  the.  vicar  and  the  secretary 


THE   REVEREND  JOHN   GREEDY.  9I 

of  the  Gold  Coast  Evangelistic  Society.  When  those 
two  eminent  missionary  advocates  had  met  a  fortnight 
before  at  Exeter  Hall,  the  secretary  had  represented 
to  the  vicar  the  desirability  of  young  John  Greedy *s 
taking  to  himself  an  English  wife  before  his  departure. 
"  It  will  steady  him,  and  keep  him  right  on  the  Goast,** 
he  said,  "and  it  will  give  him  importance  in  the  eyes 
of  the  natives  as  well."  Whereto  the  vicar  responded 
that  he  knew  exactly  the  right  girl  to  suit  the  place  in 
his  own  parish,  and  that  by  a  providential  conjunction 
she  already  took  a  deep  interest  in  foreign  missions. 
So  these  two  good  men  conspired  in  all  innocence  of 
heart  to  sell  poor  Ethel  into  African  slavery  ;  and  the 
vicar  had  asked  John  Greedy  down  to  Walton  Magna 
on  purpose  to  meet  her. 

That  afternoon  Ethel  put  on  her  pretty  sateen  and 
her  witching  little  white  hat,  with  two  natural  dog- 
roses  pinned  on  one  side,  and  went  pleased  and  proud 
up  to  the  vicarage.  The  Reverend  John  Greedy  was 
there,  not  in  full  clerical  costume,  but  arrayed  in 
tennis  flannels,  with  only  a  loose  white  tie  beneath  his 
flap  collar  to  mark  his  newly  acquired  spiritual  dignity. 
He  was  a  comely  looking  negro  enough,  full-blooded, 
but  not  too  broad-faced  nor  painfully  African  in  type ; 
and  when  he  was  playing  tennis  his  athletic  quick 
limbs  and  his  really  handsome  build  took  away 
greatly  from  the  general  impression  of  an  inferior 
race.  His  voice  was  of  the  ordinary  Oxford  type, 
open,  pleasant,  and  refined,  with  a  certain  easy-going 
air  of  natural  gentility,  hardly  marred  by  just  the  faint- 
est tinge  of  the  thick  negro  blur  in  the  broad  vowels. 
When  he  talks  to  Ethel — and  the  vicar's  wife  took 
good  ca.re  that  they  should  talk  together  a  great  deal 


92  STRANGE  STORIES. 

— his  conversation  was  of  a  sort  that  she  seldom  heard 
at  Walton  Magna.  It  was  full  of  London  and  Oxford  ; 
of  boat-races  at  Iffley  and  cricket  matches  at  Lord's  ; 
of  people  and  books  whose  very  names  Ethel  had 
never  heard — one  of  them  was  a  Mr.  Mill,  she  thought, 
and  another  a  Mr.  Aristotle — but  which  she  felt 
vaguely  to  be  one  step  higher  in  the  intellectual  scale 
than  her  own  level.  Then  his  friends,  to  whom  he 
alluded  casually,  not  like  one  who  airs  his  grand  ac- 
quaintances, were  such  very  distinguished  people. 
There  was  a  real  live  lord,  apparently,  at  the  same 
college  with  him,  and  he  spoke  of  a  young  baronet 
whose  estate  lay  close  by,  as  plain  "  Harrington  of 
Christchurch,"  without  any  "  Sir  Arthur  " — a  thing 
which  even  the  vicar  himself  would  hardly  have  ven- 
tured to  do.  She  knew  that  he  was  learned,  too  ;  as 
a  matter  of  fact  he  had  taken  a  fair  second  class  in 
Greats  at  Oxford  ;  and  he  could  talk  delightfully  of 
poetry  and  novels.  To  say  the  truth,  John  Greedy,  in 
spite  of  his  black  face,  dazzled  poor  Ethel,  for  he  was 
more  of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman  than  anybody  with 
whom  she  had  ever  before  had  the  chance  of  convers- 
ing on  equal  terms. 

When  Ethel  turned  the  course  of  talk  to  Africa,  the 
young  parson  was  equally  eloquent  and  fascinating. 
He  didn't  care  about  leaving  England  for  many 
reasons,  but  he  would  be  glad  to  do  something  for  his 
poor  brethren.  He  was  enthusiastic  about  missions  ; 
that  was  a  common  interest ;  and  he  was  so  anxious  to 
raise  and  improve  the  condition  of  his  fellow-negroes 
that  Ethel  couldn't  help  feeling  what  a  noble  thing  it 
was  of  him  thus  to  sacrifice  himself,  cultivated  gentle- 
man as  he  was,  in  an  African  jungle,  for  his  heathen 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  GREEDY.        93 

countrymen.  Altogether,  she  went  home  from  the 
tennis-court  that  afternoon  thoroughly  overcome  by 
John  Greedy *s  personality.  She  didn't  for  a  moment 
think  of  falling  in  love  with  him — a  certain  indescrib- 
able race-instinct  set  up  an  impassable  barrier  against 
that — but  she  admired  him  and  was  interested  in  him 
in  a  way  that  she  had  never  yet  felt  with  any  other 
man. 

As  for  John  Greedy,  he  was  naturally  charmed  with 
Ethel.  In  the  first  place,  he  would  have  been  charmed 
with  any  English  girl  who  took  so  much  interest  in 
himself  and  his  plans,  for,  like  all  negroes,  he  was 
frankly  egotistical,  and  delighted  to  find  a  white  lady 
who  seemed  to  treat  him  as  a  superior  being.  But  in 
the  second  place,  Ethel  was  really  a  charming,  simple 
English  village  lassie,  with  sweet  little  manners  and  a 
delicious  blush,  who  might  have  impressed  a  far  less 
susceptible  man  than  the  young  negro  parson.  So, 
whatever  Ethel  felt,  John  Greedy  felt  himself  truly  in 
love.  And  after  all,  John  Greedy  was  in  all  essentials 
an  educated"  English  gentleman,  with  the  same  chival- 
rous feelings  towards  a  pretty  and  attractive  girl  that 
every  English  gentleman  ought  to  have. 

On  Sunday  morning  Aunt  Emily  and  Ethel  went  to 
the  parish  church,  and  the  Reverend  John  Greedy 
preached  the  expected  sermon.  It  was  almost  his 
first — sounded  like  a  trial  trip,  Uncle  James  mut- 
tered— but  it  was  undoubtedly  what  connoisseurs  de- 
scribe as  an  admirable  discourse.  John  Greedy  was 
free  from  any  tinge  of  nervousness — negroes  never 
know  what  that  word  means — and  he  spoke  fervently, 
eloquently,  and  with  much  power  of  manner  about  the 
necessity  for  a  Gold  Coast  Mission.     Perhapo  there 


94  STRANGE   STORIES. 

was  really  nothing  very  original  or  striking  in  what  he 
said,  but  his  way  of  saying  it  was  impressive  and  vig- 
orous. The  negro,  like  many  other  lower  races,  has 
the  faculty  of  speech  largely  developed,  and  John 
Greedy  had  been  noted  as  one  of  the  readiest  and 
most  fluent  talkers  at  the  Oxford  Union  debates. 
When  he  enlarged  upon  the  need  for  workers,  the 
need  for  help,  the  need  for  succor  and  sympathy  in  the 
great  task  of  evangelization.  Aunt  Emily  and  Ethel 
forgot  his  black  hands,  stretched  out  open-palmed 
towards  the  people,  and  felt  only  their  hearts  stirred 
within  them  by  the  eloquence  and  enthusiasm  of  that 
appealing  gesture.  . 

.  The  end  of  it  all  was,  that  instead  of  a  week  John 
Greedy  stopped  for  two  months  at  Walton  Magna, 
and  during  all  that  time  he  saw  a  great  deal  of  Ethel. 
Before  the  end  of  the  first  fortnight  he  walked  out  one 
afternoon  along  the  river-bank  with  her,  and  talked 
earnestly  of  his  expected  mission. 

**  Miss  Berry,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  to  rest  awhile  on 
the  parapet  of  the  little  bridge  by  the  weeping  willows, 
"  I  don't  mind  going  to  Africa,  but  I  can't  bear  going 
all  alone.  I  am  to  have  a  station  entirely  by  myself 
up  the  Ancobra  river,  where  I  shall  see  no  other  Chris- 
tian face  from  year's  end  to  year's  end.  I  wish  I 
could  have  had  some  one  to  accompany  me." 

"You  will  be  very  lonely,"  Ethel  answered.  "I 
wish  indeed  you  could  have  some  companionship." 

"Do  you  really?"  John  Greedy  went  on.  "It  is 
not  good  for  man  to  live  alone  ;  he  wants  a  helpmate. 
Oh,  Miss  Ethel,  may  I  venture  to  hope  that  perhaps, 
if  I  can  try  to  deserve  you,  you  will  be  mine  ?" 

Ethel  started  in  dismay.     Mr.  Greedy  had  been  very 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  CREEDY.  95 

attentive,  very  kind,  and  she  had  liked  to  hear  him 
talk  and  had  encouraged  his  coming,  but  she  was 
hardly  prepared  for  this.  The  nameless  something  in 
our  blood  recoiled  at  it.  The  proposal  stunned  her, 
and  she  said  nothing  but  "Oh,  Mr.  Greedy,  how  can 
you  say  such  a  thing  ?" 

John  Greedy  saw  the  shadow  on  her  face,  the  unin- 
tentional dilatation  of  her  delicate  nostrils,  the  faint 
puckering  at  the  corner  of  her  lips,  and  knew  with  a 
negro's  quick  instinct  of  face-reading  what  it  all  meant. 
"  Oh,  Miss  Ethel,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  genuine  bit- 
terness in  his  tone,  **  don't  you,  too,  despise  us.  I 
won't  ask  you  for  any  answer  now ;  I  don't  want  an 
answer.  But  I  want  you  to  think  it  over.  Do  think 
it  over,  and  consider  whether  you  can  ever  love  me.  I 
won't  press  the  matter  on  you.  I  won't  insult  you  by 
importunity,  but  I  will  tell  you  just  this  once,  and 
once  for  all,  what  I  feel.  I  love  you,  and  I  shall 
always  love  you,  whatever  you  answer  me  now.  I 
know  it  would  cost  you  a  wrench  to  take  me,  a  greater 
wrench  than  to  take  the  least  and  the  unworthiest  of 
your  own  people.  But  if  you  can  only  get  over  that 
first  wrench,  f  can  promise  earnestly  and  faithfully  to 
love  you  as  well  as  ever  woman  yet  was  loved.  Don't 
say  anything  now,"  he  went  on,  as  he  saw  she  was 
going  to  open  her  mouth  again:  "wait  and  think  it 
over;  pray  it  over;  and  if  you  can't  see  your  way 
straight  before  you  when  I  ask  you  this  day  fortnight 
'yes  or  no,'  answer  me  *no,*  and  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor  as  a  gentleman  I  will  never  speak  to  you  of 
the  matter  again.  But  I  shall  carry  your  picture  writ- 
ten on  my  heart  to  my  grave." 


96  STRANGE  STORIES. 

And  Ethel  knew  that  he  was  speaking  from  his  very 
soul. 

When  she  went  home,  she  took  Aunt  Emily  up  into 
her  little  bedroom,  over  the  porch  where  the  dog-roses 
grew,  and  told  her  all  about  it.  Aunt  Emily  cried 
and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  but  she  saw 
only  one  answer  from  the  first.  "  It  is  a  gate  opened 
to  you,  my  darling,"  she  said  :  "  I  shall  break  my  heart 
over  it,  Ethel,  but  it  is  a  gate  opened."  And  though 
she  felt  that  all  the  light  would  be  gone  out  of  her  life 
if  Ethel  went,  she  worked  with  her  might  from  that 
moment  forth  to  induce  Ethel  to  marry  John  Creedy 
and  go  to  Africa.  Poor  soul,  she  acted  faithfully  up 
to  her  lights. 

As  for  Uncle  James,  he  looked  at  the  matter  very 
differently.  '*  Her  instinct  is  against  it,"  he  said 
stoutly,  "and  our  instincts  wasn't  put  in  our  hearts  for 
nothing.  They're  meant  to  be  a  guide  and  a  light  to 
us  in  these  dark  questions.  No  white  girl  ought  to 
marry  a  black  man,  even  if  he  is  a  parson.  It  ain't 
natural :  our  instinct  is  again  it.  A  white  man  may 
marry  a  black  woman  if  he  likes ;  I  don't  say  any- 
thing again  him,  though  I  don't  say  I'd  do  it  myself, 
not  for  any  money.  But  a  white  woman  to  marry  a 
black  man,  why,  it  makes  our  blood  rise,  you  know, 
'specially  if  you've  happened  to  have  cruised  worth 
speaking  of  along  the  Coast." 

But  the  vicar  and  the  vicar's  wife  were  charmed 
with  the  prospect  of  success,  and  spoke  seriously  to 
Ethel  about  it.  It  was  a  call,  they  thought,  and  Ethel 
oughtn't  to  disregard  it.  They  had  argued  themselves 
out  of  those  wholesome  race  instincts  that  Uncle 
James  so  rightly  valued,  and  they  were  eager  to  argue 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  CREEDY.  97 

Ethel  out  of  them  too.  What  could  the  poor  girl  do  ? 
Her  aunt  and  the  vicar  on  the  one  hand,  and  John 
Creedy  on  the  other,  were  too  much  between  them  for 
her  native  feelings.  At  the  end  of  the  fortnight  John 
Creedy  asked  her  his  simple  question,  **  yes  or  no,"  and 
half  against  her  will  she  answered  "yes."  John  Creedy 
took  her  hand  delicately  in  his  and  fervidly  kissed  the 
very  tips  of  her  fingers  ;  something  within  him  told 
him  he  must  not  kiss  her  lips.  She  started  at  the  kiss, 
but  she  said  nothing  John  Creedy  noticed  the  start, 
and  said  within  himself,  "  I  shall  so  love  and  cherish 
her  that  I  will  make  her  love  me  in  spite  of  my  black 
skin."  For  with  all  the  faults  of  his  negro  nature, 
John  Creedy  was  at  heart  an  earnest  and  affectionate 
man,  after  his  kind. 

And  Ethel  really  did,  to  some  extent,  love  him 
already.  It  was  such  a  strange  mixture  of  feeling. 
From  one  point  of  view  he  was  a  gentleman  by  posi- 
tion, a  clergyman,  a  man  of  learning  and  of  piety  ;  and 
from  this  point  of  view  Ethel  was  not  only  satisfied, 
but  even  proud  of  him.  For  the  rest,  she  took  him  as 
some  good  Catholics  take  the  veil,  from  a  sense  of  the 
call.  And  so,  before  the  two  months  were  out,  Ethel 
Berry  had  married  John  Creedy,  and  both  started 
together  at  once  for  Southampton,  on  their  way  to 
Axim.  Aunt  Emily  cried,  and  hoped  they  might  be 
blessed  in  their  new  work,  but  Uncle  James  never  lost 
his  misgivings  about  the  effect  of  Africa  upon  a  born 
African.  "  Instincts  is  a  great  thing,"  he  said,  with  a 
shake  of  his  head,  as  he  saw  the  West  Coast  mail 
steam  slowly  down  Southampton  Water,  "  and  when  he 
gets  among  his  own  people  his  instincts  will  surely  get 
the  better  of  him,  as  safe  as  my  name  is  James  Berry." 


98  STRANGE  STORIES. 


II. 

The  little  mission  bungalow  at  Butabu6,  a  wooden 
shed  neatly  thatched  with  fan  palms,  had  been  built 
and  garnished  by  the  native  catechist  from  Axim  and 
'his  wife  before  the  arrival  of  the  missionaries,  so  that 
Ethel  found  a  habitable  dwelling  ready  for  her  at  the 
end  of  her  long  boat  journey  up  the  rapid  stream  of 
the  Ancobra.  There  the  strangely  matched  pair  set- 
tled down  quietly  enough  to  their  work  of  teaching 
and  catechizing,  for  the  mission  had  already  been 
started  by  the  native  evangelist,  and  many  of  the  peo- 
ple were  fairly  ready  to  hear  and  accept  the  new  re- 
ligion. For  the  first  ten  or  twelve  months  Ethel's 
letters  home  were  full  of  praise  and  love  for  dear  John. 
Now  that  she  had  come  to  know  him  well,  she  won- 
dered she  had  ever  feared  to  marry  him.  No  husband 
was  ever  so  tender,  so  gentle,  so  considerate.  He 
nursed  her  in  all  her  little  ailments  like  a  woman  ;  she 
leaned  on  him  as  a  wife  leans  on  the  strong  arm  of  her 
husband.  And  then  he  was  so  clever,  so  wise,  so 
learned.  Her  only  grief  was  that  she  feared  she  was 
not  and  would  never  be  good  enough  for  him.  Yet  it 
was  well  for  her  that  they  were  living  so  entirely  away 
from  all  white  society  at  Butabu6,  for  there  she  had 
nobody  with  whom  to  contrast  John  but  the  half-clad 
savages  around  them.  Judged  by  the  light  of  that 
startling  contrast,  good  John  Greedy,  with  his  culti- 
vated ways  and  gentle  manners,  seemed  like  an  Eng- 
lishman indeed.     • 

John  Greedy,  for  his  part,  thought  no  less  well   of 


THE   REVEREND  JOHN  GREEDY.  99 

his  Ethel.  He  was  tenderly  respectful  to  her;  more 
distant,  perhaps,  than  is  usual  between  husband  and 
wife,  even  in  the  first  months  of  marriage,  but  that  was 
due  to  his  innate  delicacy  of  feeling,  which  made  him 
half  unconsciously  recognize  the  depth  of  the  gulf  that 
still  divided  them.  He  cherished  her  like  some  saintly 
thing,  too  sacred  for  the  common  world.  Yet  Ethel 
was  his  helper  in  all  his  work,  so  cheerful  under  the 
necessary  privations  of  their  life,  so  ready  to  put  up 
with  bananas  and  cassava  balls,  so  apt  at  kneading 
plantain  paste,  so  willing  to  learn  from  the  negro 
women  all  the  mysteries  of  mixing  agadey,  cankey,  and 
koko  pudding.  No  tropical  heat  seemed  to  put  her 
out  of  temper  ;  even  the  horrible  country  fever  itself 
she  bore  with  such  gentle  resignation,  John  Greedy 
felt  in  his  heart  of  hearts  that  he  would  willingly  give 
up  his  life  for  her,  and  that  it  would  be  but  a  small 
sacrifice  for  so  sweet  a  creature. 

One  day,  shortly  after  their  arrival  at  Butabue,  John 
Greedy  began  talking  in  English  to  the  catechist  about 
the  best  way  of  setting  to  work  to  learn  the  native  lan- 
guage. He  had  left  the  country  when  he  was  nine 
years  old,  he  said,  and  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  The 
catechist  answered  him  quickly  in  a  Fantee  phrase. 
John  Greedy  looked  amazed  and  started. 

*'  What  does  he  say  ?"  asked  Ethel. 

"  He  says  that  I  shall  soon  learn  if  only  I  listen  ;  but 
the  curious  thing  is,  Ethie,  that  I  understand  him." 

"  It  has  come  back  to  you,  John,  that's  all.  You  are 
so  quick  at  languages,  and  now  you  hear  it  again  you 
remember  it." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  missionary,  slowly,  "  but  I 


100  STRANGE  STORIES. 

have  never  recalled  a  word  of  it  for  all  these  years.     I 
wonder  if  it  will  all  come  back  to  me." 

"  Of  course  it  will,  dear,"  said  Ethel ;  "  you  know, 
things  come  to  you  so  easily  in  that  way.  You  almost 
learned  Portuguese  while  we  were  coming  out  from 
hearing  those  Benguela  people." 

And  so  it  did  come  back,  sure  enough.  Before  John 
Greedy  had  been  six  weeks  at  Butabu^,  he  could  talk 
Fantee  as  fluently  as  any  of  the  natives  around  him. 
After  all,  he  was  nine  years  old  when  he  was  taken  to 
England,  and  it  was  no  great  wonder  that  he  should 
recollect  the  language  he  had  heard  in  his  childhood 
till  that  age.  Still,  he  himself  noticed  rather  uneasily 
that  every  phrase  and  word,  down  to  the  very  heathen 
charms  and  prayers  of  his  infancy,  came  back  to  him 
now  with  startling  vividness  and  without  an  effort. 

Four  months  after  their  arrival  John  saw  one  day  a 
tall  and  ugly  negro  woman,  in  the  scanty  native  dress, 
standing  near  the  rude  market-place  where  the  Buta- 
hu6  butchers  killed  and  sold  their  reeking  goat- 
meat.  Ethel  saw  him  start  again,  and  with  a  terrible 
foreboding  in  her  heart,  she  could  not  help  asking  him 
why  he  started.  "  I  can't  tell  you,  Ethie,"  he  said, 
piteously  ;  "  for  heaven's  sake  don't  press  me.  I  want 
to  spare  you."  But  Ethel  would  hear.  "  Is  it  your 
mother,  John  ?"  she  asked  hoarsely. 

"  No,  thank  heaven,  not  my  mother,  Ethie,"  he 
answered  her,  with  something  like  pallor  on  his  dark 
cheek,  "  not  my  mother;  but  I  remember  the  woman." 

"  A  relative  ?" 

"  Oh,  Ethie,  don't  press  me.  Yes,  my  mother's 
sister.     I  remember  her  years  ago.     Let  us  say  no 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  CREEDY.  lOI 

more  about  it."  And  Ethel,  looking  at  that  gaunt  and 
squalid  savage  woman,  shuddered  in  her  heart  and 
said  no  more. 

Slowly,  as  time  went  on,  however,  Ethel  began  to 
notice  a  strange  shade  of  change  coming  over  John's 
ideas  and  remarks  about  the  negroes.  At  first  he  had 
been  shocked  and  distressed  at  their  heathendom  and 
savagery,  but  the  more  he  saw  of  it  the  more  he 
seemed  to  find  it  natural  enough  in  their  position,  and 
even  in  a  sort  of  way  to  sympathize  with  it  or  apol- 
ogize for  it.  One  morning,  a  month  or  two  later,  he 
spoke  to  her  voluntarily  of  his  father.  He  had  never 
done  so  in  England.  "  I  can  remember,"  he  said,  "  he 
was  a  chief,  a  great  chief.  He  had  many  wives,  and 
my  mother  was  one.  He  was  beaten  in  war  by  Kola, 
and  I  was  taken  prisoner.  But  he  had  a  fine  palace  at 
Kwantah,  and  many  fan-bearers."  Ethel  observed 
with  a  faint  terror  that  he  seemed  to  speak  with  pride 
and  complacency  of  his  father's  chieftaincy.  She 
shuddered  again  and  wondered.  Was  the  West  Afri- 
can instinct  getting  the  upper  hand  in  him  over  the 
Christian  gentleman  ? 

When  the  dries  were  over,  and  the  koko-harvest 
gathered,  the  negroes  held  a  grand  feast.  John  had 
preached  in  the  open  air  to  some  of  the  market  people 
in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening  he  was  sitting  in 
the  hut  with  Ethel,  waiting  till  the  catechist  and  his 
wife  should  come  in  to  prayers,  for  they  earned  out 
their  accustomed  ceremony  decorously,  even  there, 
every  night  and  morning.  Suddenly  they  heard  the 
din  of  savage  music  out  of  doors,  and  the  noise  of  a 
great  crowd  laughing  and  shouting  down  the  street. 
John  listened,  and  listened  with  deepening  attention. 


lOJ 


STUANviK   SroUlMH. 


"l>*>n't  \*>u  l\is\r  it,  I'Uhir?"  \\c  nifil.      "  It's  \\\r  (mn- 
toiws.      I  know  what  it  incans.      It's  tlu*  l»ai  vrst  l»atllt% 

fOi\Ht  !" 

"  How  hi»loo\H  !'*  said  I'.thol,  shiinKinj;  haiK. 

'*  Oon't  l>o  .\(i.ii»l,  iK'.msl,"  )nln\  saiil,  smilii\^;  at  \\vr. 
"It  «uoai\?*  i\o  lumw.  It's  oi^ly  \\\c  pooplo  ainii-un^ 
tluMWsolvos."  ,\\\\\  \w  W\\,\\\  to  Krrp  tin\r  lo  tlw  tom- 
t\MUs  iai>ulU'  with  th«^  pal»ns  of  Ins  hainls. 

Tho  iiit\  iht'w  inanM.  an«l  John  \\\v\\'  more  «'vi«hntly 
ovoitoil  at  cvtMv  step.  "  l>»>n't  yow  hrai,  l'*thir  ?"  he 
saii<  a|;aii>.  "It's  th(*  Sah>tijja.  What  inspiiitin^j 
mnsiv' !  It's  hUo  a  ilunn  an«H"ifo  l)anvl  ;  it's  hKf  tl»e 
l>aj;pipos  ;  it'slik*^  a  inihtaiy  inatvh.  Wy  Jov<\  it  t  oin- 
pols  ono  to  vlanoo  !'*  A\\k\  ho  p;ol  np  as  \w  spoke,  in 
lM>i;hs)\  v'hMical  ihoss  {^{ov  \\c  wore  iltMiiMl  »hess  even 
at  lU>tahvie\.  an*!  h«'j;an  capoiinjj  '\\\  a  s»>rl  ol  l\ornpipc 
rv>ui\d  tho  tiny  i<>oin. 

*' 0\\,  J»>hn.  *lot>'i,"  viiovl  l\tl\tM,  "Suppose  the 
catovhist  were  tv>  vv>n\e  it\  !" 

Unt  loht\'s  l>h>otl  was  np.  **l.*>ok  here,"  he  said 
exoiteilly,  "it  r,oes  hke  this.  Here  ytni  liohl  )'onr 
n\atvhUHk  out  ;  here  yon  tue  ;  here  )'*ni  eh.u^M*  with 
v: nt lasses  ;  here  yon  haek  then\  \Knvn  before  yynx  ;  here 
yv^n  hoK!  np  yvnir  eneiny's  ht\ul  in  yi>nr  hamls,  and 
here  yon  kick  it  otY  ani<>ni;  the  woineiu  Oh,  it's 
j:;rand  !"  There  w.is  a  terrihle  lii;ht  ii\  his  ll)k\ek  eyes 
as  he  spoke,  and  a  terrible  trembling  in  his  clenched 
M.K'k  hands. 

"  John,  *  cried  l\thel.  in  an  ai;ony  of  horror,  "  it  isn't 
Christian,  it  isn't  hnman,  it  isnH  w  orthy  of  yon.  1  can 
never,  never  love  yon  if  yon  do  such  a  thinj^  a^ain." 

In  a  moment  John's  face  changed,  and  his  hand  fell 
as  if  she  had  stabbed  him.     "  Ethie,"  he  said  in  a  low 


vnlir,  (Trrpliijr  Ikk  U  to  hrr  lil<n  n  wM|»|ir»l  'iiiatdpf, 
"  r.thir,  my  «Iiiilir»|j,  my  own  mohI,  my  ln-Invrtl  ;  what 
/((irr  \  (linw  !  ( )li,  hravrim,  I  will  never  llMlcfi  to  the 
arc'urHcil  IIiImj^j  aijain.  ( )li,  i'.lhir,  fm  lieaveirH  Hake, 
for  merry's  sake,  ((H|;ive  im-  I" 

I'Uliel  l.iid  lier  liaiul,  heiiililliii;,  nil  \\\k  Itea'l.  jfilm 
.^ank  njton  Ihm  l<nr(")  liefnre  liri,  hiiiI  liowed  liiinsrlf 
ilowti  wilh  liJM  liead  ImIwcmii  lii^i  arms,  lil<e  one  sta^- 
j;ered  and  penilriil.  I'.llnl  liflrd  lijin  jmiiI  ly,  ,itid  af 
that  moment  the  (ateihjst  and  his  wife  (aine  in.  John 
Htood  np  f'inni)',  tnoU  down  hin  Milde  ;iiid  I'rayer  hook, 
and  read  thioii|;h  evenin|;  prayer  at  om  e  in  his  tiftnal 
inipieMsive  lone.  In  oih"  moment  he  had  <  h,iii{;ed 
haek  a};ain  from  tin*  I'antee  Mavajje  to  the  deiorons 
( )xford  I  lerjjyman. 

it  was  only  a  week  later  that  I'*thel,  hnntinjj  ahout 
in  the  little  storer(»(Mn,  hapjieiied  to  iioti((;  a  stout 
wooden  box  earefnily  C(»V(;red  up.  .She  opened  the  lid 
wilh  some  tliClii  iilty,  for  it  wan  fastened  down  with  a 
n.itivc  lock,  and  to  her  horror  she  found  inside  it  a  siir- 
r«'ptitious  ke|.j  of  raw  ncj^jro  rum.  .She  took  the  k(r^ 
«Mit,  put  it  eonspi(u<Mis!y  in  the  midst  of  the  Htor<'rof)m, 
and  said  nothin|.[.  That  ni|dit  she  heard  John  in  the 
juimle  hehind  tlnr  yard,  and  lookin^j  out,  she  saw 
dindy  th.it  he  was  haikinj^  the  ke^  t<i  j)ieces  vehe- 
mently wilh  an  axe.  After  that  he  was  even  kind(T 
and  tenderer  to  lu;r  than  usual  for  the  next  week,  hut 
I'Uhel  va|.;uely  remiMnbered  that  once  or  twice  before 
lie  had  .seemed  a  little  odd  in  his  manner,  and  that  it 
wa.s  on  those  tiays  that  she  had  seen  j^leams  of  the 
savage  nature  j)eepin^  through.  I'erhaps,  she  thought, 
with  a  shiver,  his  civilization  was  only  a  veneer,  and  a 
glass  of  raw  rum  or  so  was  enough  to  wash  it  off. 


104  •  STRANGE   STORIES.  ' 

Twelve  months  after  their  first  arrival,  Ethel  came 
home  very  feverish  one  evening  from  her  girls'  school, 
and  found  John  gone  from  the  hut.  Searching  about 
in  the  room  for  the  quinine  bottle, she  came  once  more 
upon  a  rum-keg,  and  this  time  it  was  empty.  A  name- 
less terror  drove  her  into  the  little  bedroom.  There, 
on  the  bed,  torn  into  a  hundred  shreds,  lay  John 
Creedy's  black  coat  and  European  clothing.  The 
room  whirled  around  her,  and  though  she  had  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing  before,  the  terrible  truth  flashed 
across  her  bewildered  mind  like  a  hideous  dream.  She 
went  out  alone,  at  night,  as  she  had  never  done  before 
since  she  came  to  Africa,  into  the  broad  lane  between 
the  huts  which  constituted  the  chief  street  of  Butabu6. 
So  far  away  from  home,  so  utterly  solitary  among  all 
those  black  faces,  so  sick  at  heart  with  that  burning 
and  devouring  horror !  She  reeled  and  staggered 
down  the  street,  not  knowing  how  or  where  she  went, 
till  at  the  end,  beneath  the  two  tall  date-palms,  she  saw 
lights  flashing,  and  heard  the  noise  of  shouts  and 
laughter.  A  group  of  natives,  men  and  women  to- 
gether, were  dancing  and  howling  round  a  dancing  and 
howling  negro.  The  central  figure  was  dressed  in  the 
native  fashion,  with  arms  and  legs  bare,  and  he  was 
shouting  a  loud  song  at  the  top  of  his  voice  in  the 
Fantee  language,  while  he  shook  a  tom-tom.  There 
was  a  huskiness  as  of  drink  in  his  throat,  and  his  steps 
were  unsteady  and  doubtful.  Great  heavens  !  could 
that  reeling,  shrieking,  black  savage  be  John  Greedy  ? 

Yes,  instinct  had  gained  the  day  over  civilization  ; 
the  savage  in  John  Greedy  had  broken  out  ;  he  had 
torn  up  his  English  clothes,  and,  in  West  African  par- 
lance, "  had  gone  Fantee."     Ethel  gazed  at  him,  white 


THE   REVEREND  JOHN  GREEDY.  "     lOJ 

with  horror — stood  still  and  gazed,  and  never  cried  nor 
fainted,  nor  said  a  word.  The  crowd  of  negroes 
divided  to  right  and  left,  and  John  Greedy  saw  his  wife 
standing  there  like  a  marble  figure.  With  one  awful 
cry  he  came  to  himself  again,  and  rushed  to  her  side. 
She  did  not  repel  him,  as  he  exp.cted  ;  she  did  not 
speak  ;  she  was  mute  and  cold  like  a  c^  -pse,  not  like 
a  living  woman.  He  took  her  up  in  his  strong  arms, 
laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  carried  her  home 
through  the  long  line  of  thatched  huts,  erect  and  steady 
as  when  he  first  walked  up  the  aisle  of  Walton  Magna 
church.  Then  he  laid  her  down  gently  on  the  bed,  and 
called  the  wife  of  the  catechist.  '*  She  has  the  fever," 
he  said  in  Fantee.     "  Sit  by  her." 

The  catechist 's  wife  looked  at  her,  and  said,  "Yes; 
the  yellow  fever." 

And  so  she  had.  Even  before  she  saw  John,  the 
fever  had  been  upon  her,  and  that  awful  revelation 
had  brought  it  out  suddenly  in  full  force.  She  lay 
unconscious  upon  the  bed,  her  eyes  open,  staring 
ghastily,  but  not  a  trace  of  color  in  her  cheek  nor  a 
sfgn  of  life  upon  her  face. 

John  Greedy  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  piece  of  paper, 
which  he  folded  in  his  hand,  gave  a  few  directions  in 
Fantee  to  the  woman  at  the  bedside,  and  then  hurried 
out  like  one  on  fire  into  the  darkness  outside. 


I06  STRANGE  STORIES. 


III. 


It  was  thirty  miles  through  the  jungle,  by  a  native 
trackway,  to  the  nearest  mission  station  at  Effuenta. 
There  were  two  Methodist  missionaries  stationed  there, 
John  Greedy  knew,  for  he  had  gone  round  by  boat 
more  than  once  to  see  them.  When  he  first  came  to 
Africa  he  could  no  more  have  found  his  way  across 
the  neck  of  the  river  fork  by  that  tangled  jungle  track 
than  he  could  have  flown  bodily  over  the  top  of  the 
cocoa  palms ;  but  now,  half  naked,  barefooted,  and 
inspired  with  an  overpowering  emotion,  he  threaded 
his  path  through  the  darkness  among  the  creepers  and 
lianas  of  the  forest  in  true  African  fashion.  Stooping 
here,  creeping  on  all  fours  there,  running  in  the  open 
at  full  "^speed  anon,  he  never  once  stopped  to  draw 
breath  till  he  had  covered  the  whole  thirty  miles,  and 
knocked  in  the  early  dawn  at  the  door  of  the  mission 
hut  at  Effuenta. 

One  of  the  missionaries  opened  the  barred  doors 
cautiously.  "  What  do  you  want  ?"  he  asked  in  Fan- 
tee,  of  the  bare-legged  savage,  who  stood  crouching 
by  the  threshold. 

"I  bring  a  message  from  Missionary  John  Greedy," 
the   bare-legged    savage   answered,    also    in    Fantee. 
"  He  wants  European  clothes." 
,    "  Has  he  sent  a  letter?"  asked  the  missionary. 

John  Greedy  took  the  folded  piece  of  paper  from 
his  palm.  The  missionary  read  it.  It  told  him  in  a 
few  words  how  the  Butabu^  people  had  pillaged  John's 
hut  at  night  and  stolen  his  clothing,  and  how  he  could 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  CREED V.       .  10/ 

not  go  outside  his  door  till  he  got  some  European 
dress  again. 

"  This  is  strange,"  said  the  missionary.  "  Brother 
Felton  died  three  days  ago  of  the  fever.  You  can 
take  his  clothes  to  Brother  Greedy,  if  you  will." 

The  bare-limbed  savage  nodded  acquiescence.  The 
missionary  looked  hard  at  him,  and  fancied  he  had 
seen  his  face  before,  but  he  never  even  for  a  moment 
suspected  that  he  was  speaking  to  John  Greedy  him- 
self. 

A  bundle  was  soon  made  of  dead  Brother  Felton's 
clothes,  and  the  bare-limbed  man  took  it  in  his  arms 
and  prepared  to  run  back  again  the  whole  way  to  But- 
abu6. 

**  You  have  had  nothing  to  eat,"  said  the  lonely  mis- 
sionary. "  Won't  you  take  something  to  help  you  on 
your  way?" 

"  Give  me  some  plantain  paste,"  answered  John 
Greedy.  "  I  can  eat  it  as  I  go."  And  when  they  gave 
it  to  him  he  forgot  himself  for  the  moment,  and  an- 
swered, "Thank  you,"  in  English.  The  missionary 
stared,  but  thought  it  was  only  a  single  phrase  that  he 
had  picked  up  at  Butabu6,  and  that  he  was  anxious, 
negro-fashion,  to  air  his  knowledge. 

Back  through  the  jungle,  with  the  bundle  in  his 
arms,  John  Greedy  wormed  his  way  once  more,  like  a 
snake  or  a  tiger,  never  pausing  or  halting  on  the  road 
till  he  found  himself  again  in  the  open  space  outside 
the  village  of  Butabu6.  There  he  stayed  awhile,  and 
behind  a  clump  of  wild  ginger,  he  opened  the  bundle 
and  arrayed  himself  once  more  from  head  to  foot  in 
English  clerical  dress.  That  done,  too  proud  to  slink, 
he  walked  bold  and  erect  down  the  main  alley,  and 


I08  ,•'  *  STRANGE  STORIES. 

quietly  entered  his  own  hut.  It  was  high  noon,  the 
baking  high  noon  of  Africa,  as  he  did  so. 

Ethel  lay  unconscious  still  upon  the  bed.  The 
negro  woman  crouched,  half  asleep  after  her  night's 
watching,  at  the  foot.  John  Greedy  looked  at  his 
watch,  which  stood  hard  by  on  the  little  wooden  table. 
"  Sixty  miles  in  fourteen  hours,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Bet- 
ter time  by  a  great  deal  than  when  we  walked  from 
Oxford  to  the  White  Horse,  eighteen  months  since." 
And  then  he  sat  down  silently  by  Ethel's  bi!:dside. 

"Has  she  moved  her  eyes  ?"  he  asked  tne  negress. 

**  Never,  John  Greedy,"  answered  the  woman.  Till 
last  night  she  had  always  called  him  "  Master." 

He  watched  the  lifeless  face  for  an  hour  or  two. 
There  was  no  change  in  it  till  about  four  o'clock ; 
then  Ethel's  eyes  began  to  alter  their  expression.  He 
saw  the  dilated  pupils  contract  a  little,  and  knew  that 
consciousness  was  gradually  returning. 

In  a  moment  more  she  looked  round  at  him  and 
gave  a  little  cry.  "John,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sort 
of  awakening  hopefulness  in  her  voice,  "  where  on 
earth  did  you  get  those  clothes?" 

"  These  clothes  ?"  he  answered  softly.  "  Why,  you 
must  be  wandering  in  your  mind,  Ethie  dearest,  to  ask 
such  a  question  now.  At  Standen's,  in  the  High  at 
Oxford,  my  darling."  And  he  passed  his  black  hand 
gently  across  her  loose  hair. 

Ethel  gave  a  great  cry  of  joy.  "  Then  it  was  a 
dream,  a  horrid  dream,  John,  or  a  terrible  mistake  ? 
Oh,  John,  say  it  was  a  dream  !" 

John  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead  slowly. 
"Ethie  darling,"  he  said,    "you  are  wandering,  I'm 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  GREEDY.  IO9 

afraid.     You  have  a  bad  fever.     I  don't   know   what 
you  mean." 

"  Then  you  didn't  tear  them  up,  and  wear  a  Fantee 
dress,  and  dance  with  a  tom-tom  down  the  street  ?  Oh, 
John!" 

"Oh,  Ethel!  No.  What  a  terrible  deHrium  you 
must  have  had  !" 

"  It  is  all  well,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  mind  if  I  die 
now."  And  she  sank  back  exhausted  into  a  sort  of 
feverish  sleep. 

"John  Greedy,"  said  the  black  catechist's  wife 
solemnly,  in  Fantee,  "  you  will  have  to  answer  for  that 
lie  to  a  dying  woman  with  your  soul !" 

"  My  soul !"  cried  John  Greedy  passionately,  smit- 
ing both  breasts  with  his  clenched  fists.  ^'^ My  %o\x\\ 
Do  you  think,  you  negro  wench,  I  wouldn't  give  my 
poor,  miserable,  black  soul  to  eternal  torments  a 
thousand  times  over,  if  only  I  could  give  her  little 
white  heart  one  moment's  forgetfulness  before  she 
dies  ?" 

For  five  days  longer  Ethel  lingered  in  the  burning 
fever,  sometimes  conscious  for  a  minute  or  two,  but 
for  the  most  part  delirious  or  drowsy  all  the  time. 
She  never  said  another  word  to  John  about  her  terrible 
dream,  and  John  never  said  another  word  to  her.  But 
he  sat  by  her  side  and  tended  her  like  a  woman,  do- 
ing everything  that  was  possible  for  her  in  the  bare 
little  hut,  and  devouring  his  full  heart  with  a  horrible 
gnawing  remorse  too  deep  for  pen  or  tongue  to  probe 
and  fathom.  For  civilization  with  John  Greedy  was 
really  at  bottom  far  more  than  a  mere  veneer;  though 
the  savage  instincts  might  break  out  with  him  now  and 
again,  such  outbursts  no  more  affected  his  adult  and 


no  STRANGE  STORIES. 

acquired  nature  than  a  single  bump  supper  or  wine 
party  at  college  affects  the  nature  of  many  a  gentle- 
minded  English  lad.  The  truest  John  Creedy  of  all 
was  the  gentle,  tender,  English  clergyman. 

As  he  sat  by  her  bedside  sleepless  and  agonized, 
night  and  day  for  five  days  together,  one  prayer  only 
rose  to  his  lips  time  after  time  :  '*  Heaven  grant  she 
may  die  !"  He  had  depth  enough  in  the  civilized  side 
of  his  soul  to  feel  that  that  was  the  only  way  to  save 
her  from  a  life-long  shame.  "If  she  gets  well,"  he 
said  to  himself,  trembling,  "I  will  leave  this  accursed 
Africa  at  once.  I  will  work  my  way  back  to  England 
as  a  common  sailor,  and  send  her  home  by  the  mail 
with  my  remaining  money.  I  will  never  inflict  my 
presence  upon  her  again,  for  she  can  not  be  persuaded, 
if  once  she  recovers,  that  she  did  not  see  me,  as  she 
did  see  me,  a  bare-limbed  heathen  Fantee  brandishing 
a  devilish  tom-tom.  But  I  shall  get  work  in  England 
— not  a  parson's;  that  I  can  never  be  again — but 
clerk's  work,  laborer's  work,  navvy's  work,  anything ! 
Look  at  my  arms ;  I  rowed  five  in  the  Magdalen 
eight ;  I  could  hold  a  spade  as  well  as  any  man.  I 
will  toil  and  slave,  and  save,  and  keep  her  still  like  a 
lady,  if  I  starve  for  it  myself,  but  she  shall  never  see 
my  face  again,  if  once  she  recovers.  Even  then  it  will 
be  a  living  death  for  her,  poor  angel !  There  is  only 
one  hope — Heaven  grant  she  may  die  !'* 

On  the  fifth  day  she  opened  her  eyes  once.  John 
saw  that  his  prayer  was  about  to  be  fulfilled.  "  John," 
she  said  feebly — "  John,  tell  me,  on  your  honor,  it  was 
only  my  delirium." 

And  John,  raising  his  hand  to  heaven,  splendide 
mendaxt  answered  in  a  firm  voice,  "  I  swear  it." 


THE   KEVEKExNl)  JOlliN    GREEDY.  Ill 

Ethel  smiled  and  shut  her  eyes.  It  was  for  the  last 
time. 

Next  morning,  John  Creedy — tearless,  but  parched 
and  dry  in  the  mouth,  like  one  stunned  and  unmanned 
— took  a  pickaxe  and  hewed  out  a  rude  grave  in  the 
loose  soil  near  the  river.  Then  he  fashioned  a  rough 
coffin  from  twisted  canes  with  his  own  hands,  and  in 
it  he  reverently  placed  the  sacred  body.  He  allowed 
no  one  to  help  him  or  come  near  him — not  even  his 
fellow-Christians,  the  catechist  and  his  wife;  Ethel 
was  too  holy  a  thing  for  their  African  hands  to  touch. 
Next  he  put  on  his  white  surplice,  and  for  the  first  and 
only  time  in  his  life  he  read,  without  a  quaver  in  his 
voice,  the  Church  of  England  burial  service  over  the 
open  grave.  And  when  he  had  finished  he  went  back 
to  his  desolate  hut,  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice  of  ut- 
ter despair,  "  The  one  thing  that  bound  me  to  civiliza- 
tion is  gone.  Henceforth  I  shall  never  speak  another 
word  of  English.  I  go  to  my  own  people."  So  say- 
ing, he  solemnly  tore  up  his  European  clothes  once 
more,  bound  a  cotton  loin-cloth  round  his  waist,  cov- 
ered his  head  with  dirt,  and  sat  fasting  and  wailing 
piteously,  like  a  broken-hearted  child,  in  his  cabin. 

Nowadays,  the  old  half-caste  Portuguese  rum-dealer 
at  Butabue  can  point  out  to  any  English  pioneer  who 
comes  up  the  river  which  one,  among  a  crowd  of  di- 
lapidated negroes  who  lie  basking  in  the  soft  dust  out- 
side his  hut,  was  once  the  Reverend  John  Creedy, 
B.A.,  of  Magdalen  College,  Oxford. 


MR.  CHUNG. 

The  first  time  I  ever  met  poor  Chung  was  at  one  of 
Mrs.  Bouverie  Barton's  Thursday  evening  receptions 
in  Eaton  Place.  Of  course  you  know  Mrs.  Bouverie 
Barton,  the  cleverest  literary  hostess  at  this  moment 
living  in  London.  Herself  a  well-known  novelist,  she 
collects  around  her  all  the  people  worth  knowing,  at 
her  delightful  At  Homes  ;  and  whenever  you  go  there 
you  are  sure  to  meet  somebody  whose  acquaintance  is 
a  treasure  and  an  acquisition  for  your  whole  after  life. 

Well,  it  so  happened  on  one  of  those  enjoyable 
Thursday  evenings  that  I  was  sitting  on  the  circular 
ottoman  in  the  little  back  room  with  Miss  Amelia 
Hogg,  the  famous  woman's  rights  advocate.  Now,  if 
there  is  a  subject  on  earth  which  infinitely  bores  me, 
that  subject  is  woman's  rights;  and  if  there  is  a  person 
on  earth  who  can  make  it  absolutely  unendurable,  that 
person  is  Miss  Amelia  Hogg.  So  I  let  her  speak  on 
placidly  in  her  own  interminable  manner  about  the 
fortunes  of  the  Bill — she  always  talks  as  though  her 
own  pet  Bill  were  the  only  Bill  now  existing  on  this 
sublunary  planet — and  while  I  interposed  an  occasional 
**  Indeed  "  or  "  Quite  so  "  for  form's  sake,  I  gave  my- 
self up  in  reality  to  digesting  the  conversation  of  two 
intelligent  people  who  sat  back  to  back  with  us  on  the 
other  side  of  the  round  ottoman. 


MR.  CHUNG.  113 

"  Yes,"  said  one  of  the  speakers,  in  a  peculiarly  soft 
silvery  voice  which  contrasted  oddly  with  Miss  Hogg's 
querulous  treble,  "  his  loss  is  a  very  severe  one  to  con- 
temporary philosophy.  His  book  on  the  *  Physiology 
of  Perception '  is  one  of  the  most  masterly  pieces  of 
analytic  work  I  have  ever  met  with  in  the  whole 
course  of  my  psychological  reading.  It  was  to  me,  I 
confess,  who  approached  it  fresh  from  the  school  of 
Schelling  and  Hegel,  a  perfect  revelation  of  i\  pos- 
tcriori  thinking.  I  shall  never  cease  to  regret  that  he 
did  not  live  long  enough  to  complete  the  second 
volume." 

Just  at  this  point  Miss  Hogg  had  come  to  a  pause 
in  her  explanation  of  the  seventy-first  clause  of  the 
Bill,  and  I  stole  a  look  round  the  corner  to  see  who 
my  philosophic  neighbor  might  happen  to  be.  An 
Oxford  don,  no  doubt,  I  said  to  myself,  or  a  young 
Cambridge  professor,  freshly  crammed  to  the  throat 
with  all  the  learning  of  the  Moral  Science  Tripos. 

Imagine  my  surprise  when,  on  glancing  casually  at 
the  silvery-voiced  speaker,  I  discovered  him  to  be  a 
full-blown  Chinaman  !  \  3S,  a  yellow-skinned,  almond- 
eyed,  Mongolian-featured  Chinaman,  with  a  long  pig- 
tail hanging  down  his  back,  and  attired  in  the  official 
amber  silk  robe  and  purple  slippers  of  a  mandarin  of 
the  third  grade,  and  the  silver  button.  My  curiosity 
was  so  fully  aroused  by  this  strange  discovery  that  I 
determined  to  learn  something  more  about  so  curious 
a  product  of  an  alien  civilization  ;  and  therefore,  after 
a  few  minutes,  I  managed  to  give  Miss  Amelia  Hogg 
the  slip  by  drawing  in  young  Harry  Farquhar,  the 
artist  at  the  hundred-and-twentieth  section,  and  mak- 


114  STRANGE  STORIES. 

ing  my  way  quietly  across  the  room  to  Mrs.  Bouvcrie 
Harton. 

"  The  name  of  that  young  Chinaman  ?**  our  hostess 
said  in  answer  to  my  question.  •'  Oh,  certainly  ;  he 
is  Mr.  Chung,  of  the  Chinese  Legation.  A  most  intel- 
ligent and  well-educated  young  man,  with  a  great  deal 
of  taste  for  European  literature.  Introduce  you? — of 
course,  this  minute."  And  she  led  the  way  back  to 
where  my  Oriental  phenomenon  was  still  sitting,  deep 
as  ever  in  philosophical  problems  with  Professor  Wool- 
stock,  a  spectacled  old  gentleman  of  German  aspect, 
who  was  evidently  pumping  him  thoroughly  with  a 
view  to  the  materials  for  Volume  Forty  of  his  forth- 
coming great  work  on  "  Ethnical  Psychology." 

I  sat  by  Mr.  Chung  for  the  greater  part  of  what  was 
left  of  that  evening.     From  the  very  first  he  exercised 
a  sort  of  indescribable  fascination  over  me.     His  Eng- 
lish had  hardly  a  trace  of  foreign  accent,  and  his  voice 
was  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  exquisitely  modu- 
lated that  I  have  ever  heard.     When  he  looked  at  you, 
his  deep,  calm  eyes  bespoke  at  once  the  very  essence 
of   transparent   sincerity.      Before   the   evening    was 
over,  he  had  told  me  the  whole  history  of  his  educa- 
tion and  his  past  life.     The  son  of  a  well-to-do  Pekin 
mandarin,  of  distinctly  European  tastes,  he  had  early 
passed  all  his  examinations  in   China,  and   had  been 
selected  by  the   Celestial  Government  as  one  of  the 
first  batch  of  students   sent  to  Europe  to  acquire  the 
tongues  and  the  sciences  of  the  Western  barbarians. 
Chung's  billet  was  to  England  ;  and  here,  or  in  France, 
he  had  lived  with  a  few  intervals  ever  since  he  first 
came   to  man's  estate.     He  had  picked  up  our    lan- 
guage quickly  ;  had  taken  a  degree  at  London  Univer- 


MR.  CHUNG.    •  11$ 

sity ;  and  had  made  himself  thoroughly  at  home  in 
English  literature.  In  fact,  he  was  practically  an 
Englishman  in  everything  but  face  and  clothing.  His 
naturally  fine  intellect  had  assimilated  European 
thought  and  European  feeling  with  extraordinary 
ease,  and  it  v-«:  often  almost  impossible  in  talking 
with  him  to  re..iember  that  he  was  not  one  of  our- 
selves. If  you  shut  your  eyes  and  listened,  you  heard 
a  pleasant,  cultivated,  intelligent  young  Englishman ; 
when  you  opened  them  again,  it  was  always  a  fresh 
surprise  to  find  yourself  conversing  with  a  genuine 
yellow-faced,  pig-tailed  Chinaman,  in  the  full  costume 
of  the  peacock's  feather. 

**  You  could  never  go  back  to  live  in  China  ?"  I  said 
to  him  inquiringly  after  a  time.  "  You  could  never 
endure  life  among  your  own  people  after  so  long  a 
residence  in  civilized  Europe  ?" 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  answered,  wi:h  a  slight  shudder 
of  horror,  "you  do  not  reflect  what  my  position  actu- 
ally is.  My  Government  may  recall  me  any  day.  I 
am  simply  at  their  mercy,  and  I  must  do  as  I  am  bid- 
den." 

"  But  you  would  not  like  China,"  I  put  in. 

"  Like  it !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  gesture  which  for  a 
Chinaman  I  suppose  one  must  call  violent.  "  I  should 
abhor  it.  It  would  be  a  living  death.  You  who  have 
never  been  in  China  can  have  no  idea  of  what  an  awful 
misfortune  it  would  be  for  a  man  who  has  acquired 
civilized  habits  and  modes  of  thought  to  live  among 
such  a  set  of  more  than  mediaeval  barbarians  as  my 
countrymen  still  rem.ain  at  the  present  day.  Oh,  no  ; 
God  grant  I  may  never  have  to  return  there  perma- 
nently, for  it  would  be  more  than  I  could  endure.  Even 


Il6  STRANGE  STORIES. 

a  short  visit  to  Pekin  is  bad  enough  ;  the  place  reeks 
of  cruelty,  jobbery  and  superstition  from  end  to  end  ; 
and  I  always  breathe  more  freely  when  I  have  once 
more  got  back  on  to  the  deck  of  a  European  steamer 
that  flies  the  familiar  British  flag." 

"  Then  you  are  not  patriotic,"  I  ventured  to  say. 

"  Patriotic  !"  he  replied,  with  a  slight  curl  of  the  lip  ; 
•*  how  can  a  man  be  patriotic  to  such  a  mass  of  corrup- 
tion and  abomination  as  our  Chinese  Government  ?  I 
can  understand  a  patriotic  Russian,  a  patriotic  Egyp- 
tian, nay,  even  a  patriotic  Turk ;  but  a  patriotic 
Chinaman — why,  the  very  notion  is  palpably  absurd. 
Listen,  my  dear  sir ;  you  ask  me  if  I  could  live  in  China. 
No,  I  couldn't ;  and  for  the  best  of  all  possible  reasons 
— they  wouldn't  let  me.  You  don't  know  what  the 
furious  prejudice  and  blind  .superstition  of  that  awful 
country  really  is.  Before  I  had  been  there  three  months 
they  would  accuse  me  either  of  foreign  practices  or, 
what  comes  to  much  the  same  thing,  of  witchcraft ; 
and  they  would  put  me  to  death  by  one  of  their  most 
horrible  torturing  punishments — atrocities  which  I 
could  not  even  mention  in  an  English  drawing-room. 
That  is  the  sort  of  Damocles'  sword  that  is  always 
hanging  over  the  head  of  every  Europeanized  China- 
man who  returns  against  his  own  free  will  to  his  native 
land." 

I  was  startled  and  surprised.  It  seemed  so  natural 
and  simple  to  be  talking  under  Mrs.  Bouverie  Barton's 
big  chandelier  with  this  interesting  young  man,  and 
yet  so  impossible  for  a  moment  to  connect  him  in 
thought  with  all  the  terrible  things  that  one  had  read 
in  books  about  the  prisons  and  penal  laws  of  China. 
That  a  graduate  of  London  University,  a  philosopher 


MR.   CHUNG.  117 

learned  in  all  the  political  wisdom  of  Ricardo,  Mill  and 
Herbert  Spencer,  should  really  be  subject  to  that  bar- 
baric code  of  adominable  tortures,  was  more  than  one 
could  positively  realize.  I  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  "  But  of  course  they  will  never  recall  you." 

**  I  trust  not,"  he  said  quietly  ;  "  I  pray  not.  Very 
likely  they  will  let  me  stop  here  all  my  lifetime.  I 
am  an  assistant  interpreter  to  the  Embassy,  in  which 
capacity  I  am  useful  to  Pekin ;  whereas  in  any  home 
appointment  I  would  of  course  be  an  utter  failure,  a 
manifest  impossibility.  But  there  is  really  no  account- 
ing for  the  wild  vagaries  and  caprices  of  the  Vermilion 
Pencil.  For  aught  I  know  to  the  contrary,  I  might 
even  be  recalled  to-morrow.  If  once  they  suspect  a 
man  of  European  sympathies,  their  first  idea  is  to  cut 
off  his  head.  They  regard  it  as  you  would  regard  the 
first  plague-spot  of  cholera  or  smallpox  in  a  great 
city. 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  they  should  ever  recall  you," 
I  said  earnestly  ;  for  already  I  had  taken  a  strong 
fancy  to  this  strange  phenomenon  of  Western  educa- 
tion grafted  on  an  immemorial  Eastern  stock ;  and  I 
had  read  enough  of  China  to  know  that  what  he  said 
about  his  probable  fate  if  he  returned  there  perma- 
nently was  nothing  more  than  the  literal  truth.  The 
bare  idea  of  such  a  catastrophe  was  too  horrible  to  be 
realized  for  a  moment  in  Eaton  Place. 

As  we  drove  home  in  our  little  one-horse  brougham 
that  evening,  my  wife  and  Efifie  were  very  anxious  to 
learn  what  manner  of  man  my  Chinese  acquaintance 
might  really  be ;  and  when  I  told  them  what  a  charm- 
ing person  I  had  found  him,  they  were  both  inclined 
rather  to  laugh  at  me  for  my  enthusiastic  description. 


Il8  STRANGE   STORIES.  "^  ' 

Effic,  in  particular,  jeered  much  at  the  notion  of  an 
intelligent  and  earnest-minded  Chinaman.  **  You 
know,  Uncle  darling,"  she  said  in  her  bewitching  way, 
*'  all  your  geese  are  always  swans.  Every  woman  you 
meet  is  absolutely  beautiful,  and  every  man  is  perfectly 
delightful — till  Auntie  and  I  have  seen  them." 

**  Perfectly   true,    Effie,"    I    answered  ;    "  it     is    an 
amiable  weakness  of  mine,  after  all." 

However  before  the  week  was  out  Effie  and  Marian 
between  them  would  have  it  that  I  must  call  upon 
Chung  and  ask  him  to  dine  with  us  at  Kensington 
Park  Terrace.  Their  curiosity  was  piqued,  for  one 
thing ;  and  for  another  thing,  they  thought  it  rather 
the  cheese  in  these  days  of  expansive  cosmopolitanism 
to  be  on  speaking  terms  with  a  Chinese  attache. 
*'  Japanese  are  cheap,"  said  Efifie,  "  horribly  cheap  of 
late  years — a  perfect  drug  in  the  market  ;  but  a  China- 
man is  still,  thank  Heaven,  at  a  social  premium." 
Now,  though  I  am  an  obedient  enough  husband,  as 
husbands  go,  I  don't  always  accede  to  Marian's  wishes 
in  these  matters  ;  but  everybody  takes  it  for  granted 
that  Effie's  will  is  law.  Effie,  I  may  mention  paren- 
thetically, is  more  than  a  daughter  to  us,  for  she  is 
poor  Tom's  only  child ;  and  of  course  everybody  con- 
nected with  dear  Tom  is  doubly  precious  to  us  now, 
as  you  may  easily  imagine.  So  when  Effie  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  Chung  was  to  dine  with  us,  the  thing 
was  settled ;  and  I  called  at  his  rooms  and  duly  in- 
vited him,  to  the  general  satisfaction  of  everybody 
concerned. 

The  dinner  was  a  very  pleasant  one,  and,  for  a  won- 
der, Effie  and  Marian  both  coincided  entirely  in  my 
hastily  formed  opinion  of  Mr,  Chung.     His  mellow 


MR.  CHUNG.  119 

silvery  voice,  his  frank  truthful  manner,  his  perfect  free- 
dom from  self-consciousness,  all  pleased  and  impressed 
those  stern  critics,  and  by  the  end  of  the  evening 
they  wei  both  quite  as  much  taken  with  his  delight- 
ful personality  as  I  myself  had  originally  been.  One 
link  leads  on  to  another ;  and  the  end  of  it  all  was 
that  when  we  went  down  for  our  summer  villeggiatura 
to  Abbot's  Norbury,  nothing  would  please  Marian  but 
that  Mr.  Chung  must  be  invited  down  as  one  of  our 
party.  He  came  willingly  enough,  and  for  five  or  six 
weeks  we  had  as  pleasant  a  time  together  as  any  four 
people  ever  spent.  Chung  was  a  perfect  encyclopaedia 
of  information,  while  his  good  humor  and  good 
spirits  never  for  a  moment  failed  him  under  any 
circumstances  whatsoever. 

One  day  we  had  made  up  a  little  private  picnic  to 
Norbury  Edge,  and  were  sitting  together  after  luncheon 
under  the  shade  of  the  big  ash  tree,  when  the  conver- 
sation happened  to  turn  by  accident  on  the  small  feet 
of  Chinese  ladies.  I  had  often  noticed  that  Chung 
was  very  reticent  about  China ;  he  did  not  like  talking 
about  his  native  country ;  and  he  was  most  pleased 
and  most  at  home  when  we  treated  him  most  like  a 
European  born.  Evidently  he  hated  the  provincialism 
of  the  Flowery  Land,  and  loved  to  lose  his  identity  in 
the  wider  culture  of  a  Western  civilization. 

"  How  funny  it  will  be,"  said  Effie,  "  to  see  Mrs. 
Chung's  tiny  feet  when  you  bring  her  to  London.  I 
suppose  one  of  these  days,  on  one  of  your  flying  visits 
to  Pekin,  you  will  take  to  yourself  a  wife  in  your 
country?" 

"No,"   Chung   answered,   with    quiet   dignity;   "I 


I20  STRANGE  STORIES. 

shall  never  marry — that  I  have  quite  decided  in  my 
own  mind." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  Marian  put  in  quickly  ;  "  I 
hate  to  hear  men  say  they'll  never  marry.  It  is  such  a 
terrible  mistake.  They  become  so  selfish,  and  frump- 
ish, and  oldbachelorish."  Dear  Marian  has  a  high  idea 
of  the  services  she  has  rendered  to  society  in  saving 
her  own  fortunate  husband  from  this  miserable  and 
deplorable  condition. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Chung  replied  quietly.  "  No  doubt 
what  you  say  is  true  as  a  rule.  But,  for  my  own  part, 
I  could  never  marry  a  Chinawoman ;  I  am  too 
thoroughly  Europeanized  for  that ;  we  should  have 
absolutely  no  tastes  or  sympathies  in  common.  You 
don't  know  what  my  countrywomen  are  like,  Mrs. 
Walters." 

"  Ah,  no,"  said  my  wife  contemplatively ;  **  I  sup- 
pose your  people  are  all  heathens.  Why,  goodness 
gracious,  Mr.  Chung,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  suppose 
really  you  are  a  heathen  yourself !" 

Chung  parried  the  question  gracefully.  "  Don't  you 
know,"  said  he,  "  what  Lord  Chesterfield  answered  to 
the  lady  who  asked  him  what  religion  he  professed  ? 
'  Madam,  the  religion  to  which  all  wise  men  belong.* 
*  And  what  is  that  ?'  said  she.  *  Madam,  no  wise  man 
ever  says.' " 

"  Never  mind  Lord  Chesterfield,"  said  Effie,  smiling, 
"but  let  us  come  back  to  the  future  Mrs.  Chung.  I'm 
quite  disappointed  you  won't  marry  a  Chinawoman  ; 
but  at  any  rate  I  suppose  you'll  marry  somebody  ?" 

"  Well,  not  a  European,  of  course,"  Marian  put  in. 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,"  Chung  echoed  with  true 
Oriental  imperturbability. 


MR.   CHUNG.  121 

"  Why  of  course  f  *  Efifie  asked  half  unconsciously  ; 
and  yet  the  very  unconsciousness  with  which  she  asked 
the  question  showed  in  itself  that  she  instinctively  felt 
the  gulf  as  much  as  any  of  us.  If  Chung  had  been  a 
white  man  instead  of  a  yellow  one,  she  would  hardly 
have  discussed  the  question  at  issue  with  so  much  sim- 
plicity and  obvious  innocence. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  why,"  Chung  answered.  "  Be- 
cause, even  supposing  any  European  lady  were  to  con- 
sent to  become  my  wife — which  is  in  the  first  place 
eminently  improbable — I  could  never  think  of  putting 
her  in  the  terribly  false  position  that  she  would  have  to 
occupy  under  existing  circumstances.  To  begin  with, 
her  place  in  English  society  would  be  a  peculiar  and  a 
trying  one.  But  that  is  not  all.  You  must  remember 
that  I  am  still  a  subject  of  the  Chinese  Empire,  and  a 
member  of  the  Chinese  Civil  Service.  I  may  any  day 
be  recalled  to  China,  and  of  course — I  say  *  of  course ' 
this  time  advisedly — it  would  be  absolutely  impossible 
for  me  to  take  an  English  wife  to  Pekin  with  me.  So 
I  am  placed  in  this  awkward  dilemma.  I  would  never 
care  to  marry  anybody  except  a  European  lady ;  and 
to  marry  a  European  lady  would  be  an  act  of  injustice 
to  her  which  I  could  never  dream  of  committing.  But 
considering  the  justifiable  contempt  which  all  Euro- 
peans rightly  feel  for  us  poor  John  Chinamen,  I  don't 
think  it  probable  in  any  case  that  the  temptation  is  at 
all  likely  to  arise.  And  so,  if  you  please,  as  the  news- 
papers always  put  it,  *  the  subject  then  dropped.'  " 

We  all  saw  that  Chung  was  in  earnest  as  to  his  wish 
that  no  more  should  be  said  about  the  matter,  and 
we  respected  his  feelings  accordingly  ;  but  that  even- 
ing, as  we  sat  smoking  in  the  arbor  after  the  ladies 


122  STRANGE  STORIES. 

had  retired,  I  said  to  him  quietly,  '*  Tell  me,  Chung, 
if  you  really  dislike  China  so  very  much,  and  are  so 
anxious  not  to  return  there,  why  don't  you  throw  off 
your  allegiance  altogether,  become  a  British  subject, 
and  settle  down  among  us  for  good  and  all  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  you  don't 
think  of  the  difficulties,  I  may  say  the  impossibilities, 
in  the  way  of  any  such  plan  as  you  propose.  It  is  easy 
enough  for  a  European  to  throw  off  his  nationality 
whenever  he  chooses  ;  it  is  a  very  different  thing  for 
an  Asiatic  to  do  so.  Moreover,  I  am  a  member  of  a 
Legation.  My  Government  would  never  willingly  let 
me  become  a  naturalized  Englishman  ;  and  if  I  tried 
to  manage  it  against  their  will  they  would  demand  my 
extradition,  and  would  carry  their  point,  too,  as  a 
matter  of  international  courtesy,  for  one  nation  could 
never  interfere  with  the  accredited  representative  of 
another,  or  with  any  of  his  suite.  Even  if  I  were  to 
abscond  and  get  rid  of  my  personality  altogether,  what 
would  be  the  use  of  it  ?  Nobody  in  England  could 
find  any  employment  for  a  Chinaman.  I  have  no 
property  of  my  own  ;  I  depend  entirely  upon  my  sal- 
ary for  support ;  my  position  is  therefore  quite  hope- 
less. I  must  simply  let  things  go  their  own  way,  and 
trust  to  chance  not  to  be  recalled  to  Pekin." 

During  all  the  rest  of  Chung's  visit  we  let  him  roam 
pretty  much  as  he  liked  about  the  place,  and  Effie  and 
I  generally  went  with  him.  Of  course  we  never  for  a 
moment  fancied  it  possible  that  EfTie  could  conceivably 
take  a  fancy  to  a  yellow  man  like  him  ;  the  very  notion 
was  too  preposterously  absurd.  And  yet,  just  towards 
the  end  of  his  stay  with  us,  it  began  to  strike  me  un- 
easily that  after  all  even  a  Chinaman  is  human.     And 


MR.   CHUNG.    ,  123 

when  a  Chinamen  happens  to  have  perfect  manners, 
noble  ideas,  delicate  sensibility,  and  a  chivalrous  res- 
pect for  English  ladies,  it  is  perhaps  just  within  the 
bounds  of  conceivability  that  at  some  odd  moments 
an  English  girl  might  for  a  second  partially  forget 
his  oblique  eyelids  and  his  yellow  skin.  I  was  some- 
times half  afraid  that  it  might  be  so  with  Effie  ; 
and  though  I  don't  think  she  would  ever  herself  have 
dreamed  of  marrying  such  a  man — the  physical  bar- 
rier between  the  races  is  far  too  profound  for  that — 
I  fancy  she  occasionally  pitied  poor  Chung's  loneli- 
ness with  that  womanly  pity  which  so  easily  glides 
into  a  deeper  and  closer  sentiment.  Certainly  she 
felt  his  isolation  greatly,  and  often  hoped  he  would 
never  really  be  obliged  to  go  back  fc  ever  to  that 
hateful  China. 

One  lovely  summer  evening,  a  few  days  before 
Chung's  holiday  was  to  end,  and  his  chief  at  the 
Embassy  expected  him  back  again,  Marian  and  I  had 
gone  out  for  a  stroll  together,  and  in  coming  home 
happened  to  walk  above  the  little  arbor  in  the  shrub- 
bery by  the  upper  path.  A  seat  let  into  the  hedge 
bank  overhung  the  summer-house,  and  here  we  both 
sat  down  silently  to  rest  after  our  walking.  As  we 
did  so,  we  heard  Chung's  voice  in  the  arbor  close 
below,  so  near  and  so  clear  that  every  word  was  quite 
distinctly  audible. 

"  For  the  last  time  in  England,"  he  was  saying,  with 
a  softly  regretful  cadence  in  his  tone,  as  we  came  upon 
him. 

•*  The  last  time,  Mr.  Chung !"  The  other  voice  was 
Effie's.    "  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 


124  STRANGE  STORIES. 

**  What  I  say,  Miss  Walters.  I  am  recalled  to  China ; 
I  got  the  letters  of  recall  the  day  before  yesterday," 

"  The  day  before  yesterday,  and  you  never  told  us  ! 
Why  didn't  you  let  us  know  before?" 

"  I  did  not  know  you  would  interest  yourselves  in 
my  private  affairs." 

"  Mr.  Chung !"  There  was  a  deep  air  of  reproach  in 
Efifie's  tone. 

"  Well,  Miss  Walters,  that  is  not  quite  true.  I 
ought  not  to  have  said  it  to  friends  so  kind  as  you 
have  all  shown  yourselves  to  be.  No  ;  my  real  reason 
was  that  I  did  not  wish  to  grieve  you  unnecessarily, 
and  even  now  I  would  not  have  done  so,  only " 

"  Only—  ?" 

At  this  moment  I  for  my  part  felt  we  had  heard  too 
much.  I  blushed  up  to  my  eyes  at  the  thought  that 
we  should  have  unwittingly  played  the  spy  upon  these 
two  innocent  young  people.  I  was  just  going  to  call 
out  and  rush  down  the  little  path  to  them  ;  but  as  1 
made  a  slight  movement  forward,  Marian  held  my 
wrist  with  an  imploring  gesture,  and  earnestly  put  her 
finger  on  my  lips.  I  was  overborne,  and  I  regret  to 
say  I  stopped  and  listened.  Marian  did  not  utter  a 
word,  but  speaking  rapidly  on  her  fingers,  as  we  all 
had  learnt  to  do  for  poor  Tom,  she  said  impressively, 
"  For  God's  sake,  not  a  sound.  This  is  serious.  We 
must  and  ought  to  hear  it  out."  Marian  is  a  very 
clever  woman  in  these  matters ;  and  when  she  thinks 
anything  a  point  of  duty  to  poor  Tom's  girl,  I  always 
give  way  to  her  implicity.  But  I  confess  I  didn't 
like  it. 

"  Only ?"  Effie  had  said. 

"  Only  I  felt  compelled  to  now,     I  could  not  leave 


MR.  CHUNG.  125 

without  telling  you  how  deeply  I  had  appreciated  all 
your  kindness." 

"  But,  Mr.  Chung,  tell  me  one  thing,**  she  asked 
earnestly  ;  "  why  have  they  recalled  you  to  Pekin  ?" 

"  I  had  rather  not  tell  you.'* 

"  I  insist.'* 

**  Because  they  are  displeased  with  my  foreign  tastes 
and  habits,  which  have  been  reported  to  them  by  some 
of  my  iGWovf-attackes." 

"  But,  Mr.  Chung,  Uncle  says  there  is  no  knowing 
what  they  will  do  to  you.  They  may  kill  you  on  some 
absurd  charge  or  other  of  witchcraft  or  something 
equally  meaningless.** 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  answered  imperturbably,  "  that 
may  be  the  case.  I  don't  mind  at  all  on  my  own  ac- 
count— we  Chinese  are  an  apathetic  race,  you  know — 
but  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  a  cause  of  grief  to  any  of 
the  dear  friends  I  have  made  in  England." 

**  Mr.  Chung!'*  This  time  the  tone  was  one  of  un- 
speakable horror. 

**  Don't  speak  like  that,"  Chung  said  quickly. 
"  There  is  no  use  in  taking  trouble  at  interest.  I  may 
come  to  no  harm  ;  at  any  rate,  it  will  not  matter  much 
to  any  one  but  myself.  Now  let  us  go  back  to  the 
house.  I  ought  not  to  have  stopped  here  with  you  so 
long,  and  it  is  nearly  dinner  time.'* 
.  **  No,'*  said  Effie  firmly ;  "  we  will  not  go  back.  I 
must  understand  more  about  this.  There  is  plenty  of 
time  before  dinner :  and  if  not,  dinner  must  wait." 

"  But,  Miss  Walters,  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  have 
brought  you  out  here,  and  I  am  quite  sure  I  ought  not 
to  stay  any  longer.  Do  return.  Your  Aunt  will  be 
annoyed." 


126  STRANGE  STORIES. 

"Bother  Aunt!  She  is  the  best  woman  in  the 
world,  but  I  must  hear  all  about  this.  Mr.  Chung, 
why  don't  you  say  you  won't  go,  and  stay  in  England 
in  spite  of  them  ?" 

Nobody  ever  disobeys  Effie,  and  so  Chung  wavered 
visibly.  "  I  will  tell  you  why,"  he  answered  slowly ; 
"because  I  cannot.  I  am  a  servant  of  the  Chinese 
Government,  and  if  they  choose  to  recall  me  I  must 

go- 

"  But  they  couldn't  enforce  their  demand." 

*'  Yes,  they  could.  Your  Government  would  give 
me  up." 

"  But  Mr.  Chung,  could't  you  run  away  and  hide  for 
a  while,  and  then  come  out  again,  and  live  like  an 
Englishman  ?" 

**  No,"  he  answered  quietly  ;  "it  is  quite  impossible. 
A  Chinaman  couldn't  get  work  in  England  as  a  clerk  or 
anything  of  that  sort,  and  I  have  nothing  of  my  own 
to  live  upon." 

There  was  silence  of  a  few  minutes.  Both  were 
evidently  thinking  it  out.     Effie  broke  the  silence  first. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Chung,  do  you  think  they  will  really  put 
you  to  death .?" 

"  I  don't  think  it ;  I  know  it." 

"You  know  it  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Again  a  silence,  and  this  time  Chung  broke  it  first. 

"Miss  Effie,"  he  said,  "one  Chinaman  more  or  less 
in  the  world  does  not  matter  much,  and  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself  for  having  been  led  to  grieve  you  for  a 
moment,  even  though  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  be 
able  to  speak  to  you.  But  I  see  you  are  sorry  for  me, 
and  now — Chinaman  as  I  am,  I  must  speak  out^ —  I 


MR.  CHUNG.       ';  12/ 

can't  leave  you  without  having  told  all  I  feel.  I  am 
going  to  a  terrible  end,  and  I  know  it — so  you  will 
forgive  me.  We  shall  never  meet  again,  so  what  I  am 
going  to  say  need  never  cause  you  any  embarrassment 
in  future.  That  I  am  recalled  does  not  much  trouble 
me  ;  that  I  am  going  to  die  does  not  much  trouble  me ; 
but  that  I  can  never,  could  never  possibly  have  called 
you  my  wife,  troubles  me  and  cuts  me  to  the  very 
quick.   It  is  the  deepest  drop  in  my  cup  of  humiliation.** 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Effie,  with  wonderful  composure. 

*'  You  knew  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  knew  it.  I  saw  it  from  the  second  week 
you  were  here  ;  and  I  like  you  for  it.  But  of  course  it 
was  impossible,  so  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said 
about  it." 

**  Of  course,"  said  Chung.  "Ah,  that  terrible  of 
course  /  I  feel  it ;  you  feel  it ;  we  all  feel  it ;  and  yet 
what  a  horrible  thing  it  is.  I  am  so  human  in  every- 
thing else,  but  there  is  that  one  impassable  barrier 
between  us,  and  I  myself  cannot  fail  to  recognize  it.  I 
could  not  even  wish  you  to  feel  that  you  could  marry 
a  Chinaman." 

At  that  moment — for  a  moment  only — I  almost  felt 
as  if  1  could  have  said  to  Effie,  "Take  him  !"  but  the 
thing  was  too  impossible — a  something  within  us  rises 
against  it — and  I  said  nothing. 

"  So  now,"  Chung  continued,  "  I  must  go.  We 
must  both  go  back  to  the  house.  I  have  said  more 
than  I  ought  to  have  said  and  I  am  ashamed  of  myself 
for  having  done  so.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  measureless 
gulf  that  parts  us,  I  felt  I  could  not  return  to  China 
without  having  told  you.     Will  you  forgive  me  ?" 


128  ,      STRANGE  STORIES. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  did,"  said  Effic;  "  it  will  relieve 
you." 

She  stood  a  minute  irresolute,  and  then  she  began 
again :  "  Mr.  Chung,  I  am  too  horrified  to  know  what 
I  ought  to  do.  I  can't  grasp  it  and  take  it  all  in  so 
quickly.  If  you  had  money  of  your  own,  would  you 
be  able  to  run  away  and  live  somehow?" 

"  I  might  possibly,"  Chung  answered,  "  but  not  prob- 
ably. A  Chinaman,  even  if  he  wears  European  cloth- 
ing, is  too  marked  a  person  ever  to  escape.  The  only 
chance  would  be  by  going  to  Mauritius  or  California, 
where  I  might  get  lost  in  a  crowd." 

**  But,  Mr.  Chun^,  I  have  money  of  my  own.  What 
can  I  do  ?  Help  me,  tell  me.  I  can't  let  a  fellow- 
creature  die  for  a  mere  prejudice  of  race  and  color.  If 
I  were  your  wife  it  would  be  yours.     Isn't  it  my  duty  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Chung.  *'  It  is  more  sacrifice  than  any 
woman  ought  to  make  for  any  man.  You  like  me,  but 
that  is  all." 

"  If  I  shut  my  eyes  and  only  heard  you,  I  think  I 
could  love  you." 

"  Miss  Effie,"  said  Chung,  suddenly,  **  this  is  wrong, 
very  wrong  of  me.  I  have  let  my  weakness  overcome 
me.  I  won't  stop  any  longer.  I  have  done  what  I 
ought  not  to  have  done,  and  I  shall  go  this  minute. 
Just  once,  before  I  go,  shut  your  eyes  and  let  me  kiss 
the  tips  of  your  fingers.  Thank  you.  No,  I  will  not 
stop,"  and,  without  another  word  he  was  gone. 

Marian  and  I  stared  at  one  another  in  blank  horror. 
What  on  earth  was  to  be  done  ?  All  solution  were 
equally  impossible.  Even  to  meet  Chung  at  dinner 
was  terrible.  We  both  knew  in  our  heart  of  hearts 
that  if  Chung  had  been  an   Englishman,  remaining  in 


MR.   CHUNG.  129 

heart  and  soul  the  very  selfsame  man  he  was,  we 
would  willingly  have  chosen  him  for  Effie  s  husband. 
But  a  Chinaman  I  Reason  about  the  prejudice  as  you 
like,  there  it  is,  a  thing  not  to  be  got  over,  and  at  bot- 
tom so  real  that  even  the  very  notion  of  getting  over 
it  is  terribly  repugnant  to  our  natural  instincts.  On 
the  other  hand,  was  poor  Chung,  with  his  fine,  delicate 
feelings,  his  courteous  manners,  his  cultivated  intellect, 
his  English  chivalry,  to  go  back  among  the  savage 
semi-barbarians  of  Pckin,  and  to  be  put  to  death  in 
Heaven  knows  what  inhuman  manner  for  the  atro- 
cious crime  of  having  outstripped  his  race  and  nation  ? 
The  thing  was  too  awful  to  contemplate  either  way. 

We  walked  home  together  without  a  word.  Chung 
had  taken  the  lower  path  ;  we  took  the  upper  one  and 
followed  him  at  a  distance.  Efifie  remained  behind 
for  a  while  in  the  summer-house.  I  don't  know  how 
we  managed  to  dress  for  dinner,  but  we  did,  somehow  ; 
and  when  we  went  down  into  the  little  drawing-room 
at  eight  o'clock,  we  were  not  surprised  to  hear  that 
Miss  Effie  had  a  headache,  and  did  not  want  any  din- 
ner that  evening.  I  was  more  surprised,  however, 
when,  shortly  before  the  gong  sounded,  one  of  the 
servants  brought  me  a  little  twisted  note  from  Chung, 
written  hurriedly  in  pencil,  and  sent,  she  said,  by  a 
porter  from  the  railway  station.     It  ran  thus  : 

"  Dear  Mr.  Walters  : 

"  Excuse  great  haste.  Compelled  to  return  to 
town  immediately.  Shall  write  more  fully  to-morrow. 
Just  in  time  to  catch  up  express. 

**  Yours  ever, 

"Chung." 


I30  STRANGE  STORIES. 

Evidently,  instead  of  returning  to  the  house,  he  had 
gone  straight  to  the  station.  After  all,  Chung  had  the 
true  feelings  of  a  gentleman.  He  could  not  meet 
Effie  again  after  what  had  passed,  and  he  cut  the  Gor- 
dian  knot  in  the  only  Vv^ay  possible. 

Efifie  said  nothing  to  us,  and  we  said  nothing  to 
Effie,  except  to  show  her  Chung's  note  next  morning 
in  a  casual,  offhand  fashion.  Two  days  later  a  note 
came  for  us  from  the  Embassy  in  Chung's  pretty, 
incisive  handwriting.  It  contained  copious  excuses 
for  his  hasty  departure,  and  a  few  lines  to  say  that  he 
was  ordered  back  to  China  by  the  next  mail,  which 
started  two  days  later.  Marian  and  I  talked  it  all 
over,  but  we  could  think  of  nothing  that  could  be  of 
ar  use ;  and  after  all,  we  said  to  one  another,  poor 
Chung  might  be  mistaken  about  the  probable  fate  that 
was  in  store  for  him. 

"  I  don't  think,"  Effie  said,  when  we  showed  her  the 
letter,  *'  I  ever  met  such  a  nice  man  as  Mr.  Chung.  I 
believe  he  is  really  a  hero.'*'  We  pretended  not  to  un- 
derstand what  she  could  mean  by  it. 

The  days  went  by,  and  we  went  back  again  to  the 
dull  round  of  London  society.  We  heard  nothing 
more  of  Chung  for  many  weeks  ;  till  at  last  one  morn- 
ing I  found  a  letter  on  the  table  bearing  the  Hong 
Kong  postmark.  I  opened  it  hastily.  As  I  supposed, 
it  was  a  note  from  Chung.  It  was  written  in  a  very 
small  hand  on  a  tiny  square  of  rice-paper,  and  it  ran  as 
follows : 

**  Thien-Shan  Prison,  Pekin,  Dec.  8. 
"My  Dear  Friend, 

"  Immediately  on  my  return  here  I  was  arrested  on 


MR.   CHUNG.  131 

a  charge  of  witchcraft,  and  of  complicity  with  the 
Foreign  Devils  to  introduce  the  Western  barbarism 
into  China.  I  have  now  been  in  a  loathsome  prison  in 
Pekin  for  three  weeks,  in  the  midst  of  sights  and 
sounds  which  I  dare  not  describe  to  you.  Already  I 
have  suffered  more  than  I  can  tell ;  and  I  have  very 
little  doubt  that  I  shall  be  brought  to  trial  and  exe- 
cuted within  a  few  weeks.  I  write  now  begging  you 
not  to  let  Miss  Effie  hear  of  this,  and  if  my  name  hap- 
pens to  be  mentioned  in  the  English  papers,  to  keep 
my  fate  a  secret  from  her  as  far  as  possible.  I  trust 
to  chance  for  the  opportunity  of  getting  this  letter 
forwarded  to  Hong  Kong,  and  I  have  had  to  write  it 
secretly,  for  I  am  not  allowed  pen,  ink,  or  paper. 
Thank  you  much  for  your  very  great  kindness  to  me. 
I  am  not  sorry  to  die,  for  it  is  a  mistake  for  a  man  to 
have  lived  outside  the  life  of  his  own  people,  and 
there  was  no  place  left  for  me  on  earth.     Good-bye, 

*'^Ever  yours  gratefully. 

"  Chung." 

The  letter  almost  drove  me  wild  with  ineffectual  re- 
morse and  regret.  Why  had  I  not  tried  to  persuade 
Chung  to  remain  in  England  ?  Why  had  I  not  man- 
aged to  smuggle  him  out  of  the  way,  and  to  find  him 
some  kind  of  light  employment,  such  as  even  a  China- 
man might  easily  have  performed  ?  But  it  was  no  use 
regretting  now.  The  impassable  gulf  was  fixed  be- 
tween us ;  and  it  was  hardly  possible  even  then  to  re- 
alize that  this  amiable  young  student,  versed  in  all  the 
science  and  philosophy  of  the  nineteenth  century,  had 
been  handed  over  alive  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a 
worse  than  mediaeval  barbarism  and  superstition.     My 


132  STRANGE   STORIES. 

heart  sank  within  me,  and  I  did  not  venture  to  show 
the  letter  even  to  Marian. 

For  some  weeks  the  days  passed  heavily  indeed.  I 
could  not  get  Chung  out  of  my  mind,  and  I  saw  that 
Effie  could  not  either.  We  never  mentioned  his 
name  ;  but  I  noticed  that  Effie  had  got  from  Mudie's 
all  the  books  about  China  that  she  could  hear  of,  and 
that  she  was  reading  up  with  a  sort  of  awful  interest 
all  the  chapters  that  related  to  Chinese  law  and  Chi- 
nese criminal  punishments.  Poor  child,  the  subject 
evidently  enthralled  her  with  a  terrible  fascination ; 
and  I  feared  that  the  excitement  she  was  in  might  bring 
on  a  brain  fever. 

One  morning,  early  in  April,  we  were  all  seated  in 
the  little  breakfast-room  about  ten  o'clock,  and  Effie 
had  taken  up  the  outside  sheet  of  the  Times,  while  I 
was  engaged  in  looking  over  the  telegrams  on  the  cen- 
tral pages.  Suddenly  she  gave  a  cry  of  horror,  flung 
down  the  paper  with  a  gesture  of  awful  repugnance, 
and  fell  from  her  chair  as  stiff  and  white  as  a  corpse. 
I  knew  instinctively  what  had  happened,  and  I  took 
her  up  in  my  arms  and  carried  her  to  her  room.  After 
the  doctor  had  come,  and  Effie  had  recovered  a  little 
from  the  first  shock,  I  took  up  the  paper  from  the 
ground  where  it  lay  and  read  the  curt  little  paragraph 
which  contained  the  news  that  seemed  to  us  so  ter- 
rible : 

"  The  numerous  persons  who  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Chung  Fo  Tsiou,  late  assistant  interpreter  to  the 
Chinese  Embassy  in  London,  will  learn  with  regret 
that  this  unfortunate  member  of  the  Civil  Service  has 
been  accused  of  witchcraft  and  executed  at  Pekin  by 


MR.  CHUNG.  133 

the  frightful  Chinese  method  known  as  the  Heavy 
Death.  Chung  Fo  Tsiou  was  well  known  in  London 
and  Paris,  where  he  spent  many  years  of  his  official 
life,  and  attracted  some  attention  by  his  natural  incli- 
nation to  European  society  and  manners." 

Poor  Chung  !  His  end  was  too  horrible  for  an  Eng- 
lish reader  even  to  hear  of  it.  But  Effie  knew  it  all, 
and  I  did  not  wonder  that  the  news  should  have  af- 
fected her  so  deeply. 

Efifie  was  some  weeks  ill,  and  at  first  we  almost 
feared  her  mind  would  give  way  under  the  pre  ..sure. 
Not  that  she  had  more  than  merely  liked  poor  Chung, 
but  the  sense  of  horror  was  too  great  for  her  easily  to 
cast  it  off.  Even  I  myself  did  not  sleep  lightly  for 
many  and  many  a  day  after  I  heard  the  terrible  truth. 
But  while  Effie  was  still  ill,  a  second  letter  reached  us, 
written  this  time  in  blood  with  a  piece  of  stick,  appar- 
ently, on  a  scrap  of  coarse  English  paper,  such  as  that 
which  is  used  for  wrapping  up  tobacco.  It  was  no 
more  than  this  : 

*'  Execution  to-day.  Keep  it  from  Miss  Effie.  Can- 
not forgive  myself  for  having  spoken  to  her.  Will 
you  forgive  me?  It  was  the  weakness  of  a  moment ; 
but  even  Chinamen  have  hearts.  I  could  not  die 
without  telling  her.  "  CHUNG." 

I  showed  Effie  the  scrap  afterwards — it  had  come 
without  a  line  of  explanation  from  Shanghae — and  she 
has  kept  it  ever  since  locked  up  in  her  little  desk  as  a 
sacred  memento.  I  don't  doubt  that  some  of  these 
days  Effie  will  marry ;  but  as  long  as  she  lives  she  will 


^34  STRANGE   STORIES. 

bear  the  impress  of  what  she  has  suffered  about 
poor  Chung.  An  English  girl  could  not  conceivably 
marry  a  Chinaman  ;  but  now  that  Chung  is  dead,  Effie 
cannot  help  admiring  the  steadfastness,  the  bravery, 
and  the  noble  qualities  of  her  Chinese  lover.  It  is  an 
awful  state  of  things  which  sometimes  brings  the  nine- 
teenth  century  and  primitive  barbarism  into  such  close 
and  horrible  juxtaposition. 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE. 


Walter  Dene,  deacon,  in  his  faultless  Oxford 
clerical  coat  and  broad  felt  hat,  strolled  along  slowlyv 
sunning  himself  as  he  went,  after  his  wont,  down  the 
pretty  central  lane  of  West  Churnside.  It  was  just  the 
idyllic  village  best  suited  to  the  taste  of  such  an  idyllic 
young  curate  as  Walter  Dene.  There  were  cottages 
with  low-thatched  roofs,  thickly  overgrown  with  yel- 
low stonecrop  and  pink  houseleek  ;  there  were  trellis- 
work  porches  up  which  the  scented  dog-rose  and  the 
fainter  honeysuckle  clambered  together  in  sisterly 
rivalry  ;  there  were  pargeted  gable-ends  of  Elizabethan 
farmhouses,  quaintly  varied  with  black  oak  joists  and 
moulded  plaster  panels.  At  the  end  of  all,  between 
an  avenue  of  ancient  elm  trees,  the  heavy  square  tower 
of  the  old  church  closed  in  the  little  vista — a  church 
with  a  round  Norman  doorway  and  dog-tooth  arches, 
melting  into  Early  English  lancets  in  the  aisle,  and 
finishing  up  with  a  great  Decorated  east  window  by 
the  broken  cross  and  yew  tree.  Not  a  trace  of  Per- 
pendicularity about  it  anywhere,  thank  goodness : 
for  if  it  were  Perpendiculai-,"  said  Walter  Dene  to  him- 
self often,  "I  really  think,  iii  spite  of  my  uncle,  I 
should  have  to  look  out  for  another  curacy." 

Yes,  it  was  a  charming  village,   and   a   charming 

[^35] 


136  STRANGE   STORIES. 

country  ;  'but,  above  all,  it  was  rendered  habitable  and 
pleasurable  for  a  man  of  taste  by  the  informing  pres- 
ence of  Christina  Eliot. 

*'  I  don't  think  I  shall  propose  to  Christina  this 
week  after  all,"  thought  Walter  Dene,  as  he  strolled 
along  lazily.  "  The  most  delightful  part  of  love- 
making  is  certainly  its  first  beginning.  The  little 
temor  of  hope  and  expectation  ;  the  half-needless 
doubt  you  feel  as  to  whether  she  really  loves  you  ; 
the  pains  you  take  to  pierce  the  thin  veil  of  maidenly 
reserve  ;  the  triumph  of  detecting  her  at  a  blush  or  a 
flutter  when  she  sees  you  coming — all  these  are  deli- 
cate little  morsels  to  be  rolled  daintily  on  the  critical 
palate,  and  not  to  be  swallowed  down  coarsely  at  one 
vulgar  gulp.  Poor  child,  she  is  on  tenter-hooks  of 
hesitation  and  expectancy  all  the  time,  I  know  ;  for 
I'm  sure  she  loves  me  now,  I'm  sure  she  loves  me  ;  but 
I  must  wait  a  week  yet  ;  she  will  be  grateful  to  me 
for  it  hereafter.  We  mustn't  kill  the  goose  that  lays 
the  golden  eggs  ;  we  mustn't  eat  up  all  our  capital  at 
one  extravagant  feast,  and  then  lament  the  want  of 
our  interest  ever  afterward.  Let  us  live  another  week 
in  our  first  fool's  paradise  before  we  enter  on  the  safer 
but  less  tremulous  pleasures  of  sure  possession.  We 
can  enjoy  first  love  but  once  in  a  lifetime  ;  let  us  enjoy 
it  now  while  we  can,  and  not  fling  away  the  chance 
prematurely  by  mere  childish  haste  and  girlish  pre- 
cipitancy." 

Thinking  which  thing,  Walter  Dene  halted  a  moment 
by  the  churchyard  wall,  picked  a  long  spray  of  scented 
wild  thyme  from  a  mossy  cranny,  and  gazed  into  the 
blue  sky  above,  at  the  graceful  swifts  who  nested  in 
the  old  tower,  as  they  curved  and  circled  through  the 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  1 37 

yielding    air  on   their   evenly   poised    and    powerful 
pinions. 

Just  at  that  moment  old  Mary  Long  came  out  of 
her  cottage  to  speak  with  the  young  parson.  "  If  ye 
plaze,  Maister  Dene,"  she  said  in  her  native  west- 
country  dialect,  "  our  Mully  would  like  to  zee  'ee. 
She's  main  ill  to-day,  zur,  and  she  be  like  to  die  a'most, 
I'm  thinking." 

**  Poor  child,  poor  child,"  said  Walter  Dene,  ten- 
derly. "  She's  a  dear  little  thing,  Mrs.  Long,  is  your 
Nellie,  and  I  hope  she  may  yet  be  spared  to  you.  I'll 
come  and  see  her  at  once,  and  try  if  I  can  do  anything 
to  ease  her." 

He  crossed  the  road  compassionately  with  the  tot- 
tering old  grandmother,  giving  her  his  helping  hand 
over  the  curbstone,  and  following  her  with  bated 
breath  into  the  close  little  sick-room.  Then  he  flung 
open  the  tiny  casement  with  its  diamond-leaded  panes, 
so  as  to  let  in  the  fresh  summer  air,  and  picked  a  few 
sprigs  of  sweet-briar  from  the  porch,  which  he  joined 
with  the  geranium  from  his  own  buttonhole  to  make 
a  tiny  nOsegay  for  the  bare  bedside.  After  that,  he 
sat  and  talked  awhile  gently  in  an  undertone  to  pale, 
pretty  little  Nellie  herself,  and  went  away  at  last  prom- 
ising to  send  her  some  jelly  and  some  soup  immedi- 
ately from  the  vicarage  kitchen. 

"  She's  a  sweet  little  child,"  he  said  to  himself 
musingly,  "though  I'm  afraid  she's  not  long  for  this 
world  now  ;  and  the  poor  like  these  small  attentions 
dearly.  They  get  them  seldom,  and  value  them  for 
the  sake  of  the  thoughtfulness  they  imply,  rather  than 
for  the  sake  of  the  mere  things  themselves.  I  can 
order  a  bottle  of  calf's-foot  at  the  grocer's,  and  Carter 


IjS  .  STRANGE  STORIKS. 

can  sot  it  it\  a  mould  without  any  trouble  ;  while  as 
for  the  so\ip.  notnc  tinned  inocU-turtlc  and  a  little 
fresh  stock  niakes  a  really  capital  mixture  for  this  sort 
of  thinp^.  It  ct>sts  so  little  to  give  these  poor  souls 
pleasure,  and  it  is  a  j^reat  luxury  to  oneself  undeni- 
ablv.  Hut,  after  all,  what  a  funnv  trade  it  is  to  set  an 
educated  man  to  \\k>  !  They  send  us  up  to  Oxford  or 
Cambrivli;e,  j;ive  us  a  distinct  taste  for  yKschylus  and 
Catullus.  Dante  and  Milton,  Mendelssohn  and  C'hopin, 
j:^ood  claret  and  olives  farcies,  and  then  brin^  us  dt>wn 
to  a  country  villaq;e,  to  K>ok  after  the  bodily  and 
spiritual  ailments  of  rhevunatic  old  washerwomen  !  If 
it  were  not  for  poetry,  flowers,  and  Christina,  I  really 
think  I  should  succumb  entirely  under  the  intlictioti." 

"  He's  adear,  i^^ood  man,  that  he  is,  is  youni;  passon," 
murmured  old  Mary  Lon^  as  Walter  disappeared 
between  the  elm  trees ;  "  and  he  do  love  the  poor  and 
the  zick,  the  same  as  if  he  was  their  own  brother. 
God  bless  his  zoul,  the  dear,  good  vulla,  vor  all  his 
kindness  to  our  NuUv." 

Half-way  down  the  main  lane  Walter  came  across 
Christina  Eliot.  As  she  saw  him  she  smiled  and  col- 
ored a  little,  and  held  out  her  small  gloved  hanxl  pret- 
tily. Walter  took  it  with  a  certain  courtlv  anil  grace- 
ful  chivalry.  "An  exquisite  day.  Miss  Eliot,"  he  said  ; 
**  such  a  depth  of  sapphire  in  the  sky,  such  a  faint 
undertone  of  green  on  the  clouds  by  the  horizon,  such 
a  lovely  humming  of  bees  over  the  flickering  hot 
meadows  !  On  days  like  this,  one  feels  that  Schopen- 
hauer is  wrong  after  all,  and  that  life  is  sometimes 
really  worth  living."  •  •  . 

"  It  seems  to  me  often  worth  living,"  Christina 
answered ;  **  if  not  for  oneself,  at  least  for  others.    But 


TIIK   ("UKA'IK   (»!•    CIHIKNSIhK.  139 

I 

you  prctctui  to  he  more  of  a  prssimlst  than  you  really 
arc,  I  fancy,  Mr.  Dciic.  Anyone  who  finih  so  ninth 
beauty  in  the  worhl  as  ynu  do  can  hardly  think  Hfe 
poor  or  meagre.  You  seem  to  catdi  the  h>vehest 
points  in  everything  you  h)ok  at,  and  to  throw  a  httle 
literary  or  artistic  reflection  over  them  which  makes 
them  even  lovelier  than  they  are  in  themselves." 

"  Well,  no  douht  one  can  increase  one's  possibilities 
of  enjoyment  by  carefully  cultivating  one's  own  facul- 
ties of  admiration  anil  apj)recialion,"  said  the  curate, 
thoughtfully;  "but,  after  all,  life  has  only  a  few 
chapters  that  are  thorouj^hly  interesting  and  enthral- 
ling in  all  its  history.  We  ou}.ditn't  to  hurry  over  them 
too  li}.(htly,  Miss  I'Jiot  ;  we  ou}.dit  to  linj^^er  on  them 
lovingly,  and  make  the  most  of  their  potentiaIiti(;s; 
we  ou^ht  to  dwell  upon  them  like  '  linked  sweetness 
lonjj^  drawn  out.'  It  is  the  mistake  of  the  world  at 
lar^e  to  hurry  too  rapidly  over  the  pleasantest  epi- 
sodes, just  as  children  pick  all  the  plums  at  once  out 
of  the  pudding.  I  often  thiidv  that,  from  the  purely 
selfish  and  temporal  point  of  view,  the  real  value  of  a 
life  to  its  subject  may  be  measured  by  the  space  of 
time  over  which  he  has  manaj^ed  to  spread  the  enjoy- 
ment of  its  greatest  pleasures.  Look,  for  example,  at 
poetry,  now. 

•  A  faint  shade  of  disappointment  passed  across  Chris- 
tina's face  as  he  turned  from  what  seemed  another 
j^roovc  into  that  indifferent  subject  ;  but  she  answered 
at  once,  "Yes,  of  course  one  f^'cls  that  with  the  higher 
pleasures  at  least ;  but  there  arc  others  in  which  the 
interest  of  plot  is  greater,  and  then  one  looks  naturally 
rather  to  the  end.    When  you  begin  a  good  novel,  you 


140  STRANGE   STORIES. 

can't  liclp  hurryinj^  tlirou^li   it   tn   order  to   find  t)iit 
what  l)cctMUcs  of  everybody  at  last." 

"  Ah,  but  the  highest  artistic  interest  j;oes  1)eyond 
mere  plot  interest.  1  like  rather  to  read  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  readinjx,  and  to  loiter  over  the  passaj^es  that 
please  nu\  quite  irrespective  of  what  poes  before  or 
what  conies  after  ;  just  as  you,  for  your  part,  like  to 
sketch  a  beautiful  scene  for  its  own  worth  to  you,  irre- 
spective of  what  may  happen  to  the  leaves  in  autumn, 
or  to  the  cottai^c  roof  in  twenty  years  ivom  this.  Hy 
the  way,  have  you  finished  that  little  water-col<ir  of 
tlic  mill  yet  ?  It's  the  prettiest  thins;  of  your's  I've 
ever  seen,  and  I  want  to  look  how  you've  managed  the 
lii;ht  on  your  forei^round." 

"Come  in  and  see  it,"  said  Christina,  "  It's  finished 
now,  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  ver\'  well  pleased 
with  it  myself." 

"  Then  I  know  it  nuist  be  i^ooil,"  the  curate  an- 
swered, **  for  you  arc  always  your  own  harshest  critic." 
And  he  turned  in  at  the  little  i^ate  with  her,  and  en- 
tered the  village  doctor's  tiny  drawini^-room. 

Christina  placed  the  sketch  on  an  easel  near  the 
window-a  low  window  openini;  to  the  ground,  with 
long,  lithe  festoons  of  faint-scented  jasmine  encroach- 
incr  on  it  frc»m  outside— and  let  the  light  fall  on  it 
aslant  in  the  right  direction.  It  was  a  pretty  and  a 
clever  sketch  certainly,  with  more  than  a  mere  ama- 
teur's sense  of  form  and  color  ;  and  Walter  Dene,  who 
had  a  true  eye  for  pictures,  could  conscientiously 
praise  it  for  its  artistic  depth  and  fullness.  Indeed,  on 
that  head,  at  least,  Walter  Dene's  veracity  was  unim- 
peachable, however  lax  in  other  matters.  Nothing  on 
earth  would  have  induced  him  to  praise  as  good  a 


TIIK   CUKATK  OF  CIUJUNSinK.  I4I 

picture  or  a  sculpture  in  which  he  saw  no  real  merit.  He 
sat  a  little  while  criticising^  and  <liscussin^  it,  suj^^est- 
in^  an  improvement  here  or  an  alteration  there,  and 
then  he  rose  hurriedly,  remembering  all  at  once  liis 
forgotten  promise  to  little  Nellie.  "  Dear  me," he  said, 
"  your  daujditer's  j)iclure  has  almost  made  mc  overlook 
my  proper  duties,  Mrs.  I'Uiot.  I  i)ronH'sed  to  send  some 
jelly  and  things  at  once  to  poor  little  Nellie  Lonj;  at  her 
^grandmother's.  Ijow  very  wronj^  of  mc  to  let  my  nat- 
ural inclinations  keep  me  loitering  here,  when  I  ou^dit 
to  have  been  thinkiti}^  of  the  poor  of  my  parish  !"  And 
he  went  out  with  just  a  gentle  pressure  on  Christina's 
hand,  and  a  look  from  his  eyes  that  her  heart  knew 
how  to  read  aright  at  the  first  glance  of  it. 

"  Do  you  know,  Christie,"  said  her  father,  "  I  some- 
times fancy  when  I  hear  that  new  parson  fellow  talk 
about  his  artistic  feelings,  and  so  on,  that  he's  just  a 
trifle  selfish,  or  at  least  self-centred.  I  le  always  dwells 
so  much  on  his  own  enjoyment  of  tilings,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  no,  papa,"  cried  Christina,  warmly.  "  lie's 
anything  but  selfish,  I'm  sure.  Look  how  kind  he  is 
to  all  the  poor  in  the  village,  and  how  much  he  thinks 
about  their  comfort  and  welfare.  And  whenever  he's 
talking  with  one,  he  seems  so  anxious  to  make  you  feel 
happy  and  contented  with  yourself.  He  has  a  sort  of 
little  subtle  flattery  of  manner  about  him  that's  all 
pure  kindliness  ;  and  he's  always  thinking  what  he  can 
say  or  do  to  please  you,  and  to  help  you  onward. 
What  you  say  about  his  dwelling  on  enjoyment  so 
much  is  really  only  his  artistic  sensibility.  He  feels 
things  so  keenly,  and  enjoys  beauty  so  deeply,  that  he 
can't  help  talking  enthusiastically  about  it  even  a  little 
out  of  season.     He  has  more  feelings  to  display  than 


142  STRANGE   STORIES. 

most  men,  and  I'm  sure  that's  the  reason  why  he  dis- 
plays them  so  much.  A  ploughboy  could  only  talk 
enthusiastically  about  roast  beef  and  dumplings  ;  Mr. 
Dene  can  talk  about  everything  that's  beautiful  and 
sublime  on  earth  or  in  heaven." 

Meanwhile,  Walter  Dene  was  walking  quickly  with 
his  measured  tread — the  even,  regular  tread  of  a  cul- 
tivated gentleman — down  the  lane  toward  the  village 
grocer's,  saying  to  himself  as  he  went,  "  There  was 
never  such  a  girl  in  all  the  world  as  my  Christina. 
She  may  be  only  a  country  surgeon's  daughter — a 
rosebud  on  a  hedgerow  bush — but  she  has  the  soul 
and  the  eye  of  a  queen  among  women  for  all  that. 
Every  lover  has  deceived  himself  with  the  same  sweet 
dream,  to  be  sure — how  over-analytic  we  have  become 
nowadays,  when  I  must  needs  half  argue  myself  out 
of  the  sweets  of  first  love ! — but  then  they  hadn't  so 
much  to  go  upon  as  I  have.  She  has  a  wonderful 
touch  in  music,  she  has  an  exquisite  eye  in  painting, 
she  has  an  Italian  charm  in  manner  and  conversation. 
I'm  something  of  a  connoisseur,  after  all,  and  no  more 
likely  to  be  deceived  in  a  woman  than  I  am  in  a  wine 
or  a  picture.  And  next  week  I  shall  really  propose 
formally  to  Christina,  though  I  know  by  this  time  it 
will  be  nothing  more  than  the  merest  formality.  Her 
eyes  are  too  eloquent  not  to  have  told  me  that  long 
ago.  It  will  be  a  delightful  pleasure  to  live  for  her, 
and  in  order  to  make  her  happy.  I  frankly  recognize 
that  I  am  naturally  a  little  selfish — not  coarsely  and 
vulgarly  selfish  ;  from  that  disgusting  and  piggish  vice, 
I  may  conscientiously  congratulate  myself  that  I'm 
fairly  free ;  but  still  selfish  in  a  refined  and  cultivated 
manner.     Now,  living  with  Christina  and  for  Christina 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  I43 

will  correct  this  defect  in  my  nature,  will  tend  to  bring 
me  nearer  to  a  true  standard  of  perfection.  When  I 
am  by  her  side,  and  then  only,  I  feel  that  I  am  think- 
ing entirely  of  her,  and  not  at  all  of  myself.  To  her  I 
show  my  best  side ;  with  her,  that  best  side  would  be 
always  uppermost.  The  companionship  of  such  a 
woman  makes  life  something  purer,  and  higher,  and 
better  worth  having.  The  one  thing  that  stands  in 
our  way  is  this  horrid  practical  question  of  what  to 
live  upon.  I  don't  suppose  Uncle  Arthur  will  be  in- 
clined to  allow  me  anything,  and  I  can't  marry  on  my 
own  paltry  income  and  my  curacy  only.  Yet  I  can't 
bear  to  keep  Christina  waiting  indefinitely  till  some 
thick-headed  squire  or  other  chooses  to  take  it  into 
his  opaque  brain  to  give  me  a  decent  living." 

From  the  grocer's  the  curate  walked  on,  carrying 
the  two  tins  in  his  hana,  as  far  as  the  vicarage.  He 
went  into  the  library,  sat  down  by  his  own  desk,  and 
rang  the  bell.  "  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  give 
those  things  to  Carter,  John  ?"  he  said  in  his  bland 
voice  ;  "and  tell  her  to  put  the  jelly  in  a  mould,  and 
let  it  set.  The  soup  must  be  warmed  with  a  little 
fresh  stock,  and  seasoned.  Then  take  them  both, 
with  my  compliments,  to  old  Mary  Long  the  washer- 
woman, for  her  grandchild.     Is  my  uncle  in  ?" 

** No,  Master  Walter,"  answered  the  man— he  was 
always  "  Master  Walter  "  to  the  old  servants  at  his 
uncle's — "the  vicar  have  gone  over  by  train  to  Chur- 
minster.  He  told  me  to  tell  you  he  wouldn't  be  back 
till  evening,  after  dinner." 

"  Did  you  see  him  off,  John  ?" 

"  Yes,  Master  Walter.  I  took  his  portmantew  to 
the  station."  . 


,1 


144  STRANGE  STORIES. 

"  This  will  be  a  good  chance,  then,"  thought  Walter 
Dene  to  himself.  "  Very  well,  John,"  he  went  on 
aloud  :  "  I  shall  write  my  sermon  now.  Don't  let  any- 
body come  to  disturb  me." 

John  nodded  and  withdrew.  Walter  Dene  locked 
the  door  after  him  carefully,  as  he  often  did  when 
writing  sermons,  and  then  lit  a  cigar,  which  was  also  a 
not  infrequent  concomitant  of  his  exegetical  labors. 
After  that  he  walked  once  or  twice  up  and  down  the 
room,  paused  a  moment  to  look  at  his  parchment- 
covered  Rabelais  and  Villon  on  the  bookshelf,  peered 
out  of  the  dulled  glass  windows  with  the  crest  in  their 
centre,  and  finally  drew  a  curious  bent  iron  instrument 
out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket.  With  it  in  his  hands,  he 
went  up  quietly  to  his  uncle's  desk,  and  began  fum- 
bling at  the  lock  in  an  experienced  manner.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  it  was  not  his  first  trial  of  skill  in  lock-pick- 
ing ;  for  Walter  Dene  was  a  painstaking  and  method- 
ical man,  and  having  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
get  at  and  read  his  uncle  will,  he  took  good  care  to 
begin  by  fastening  all  the  drawers  in  his  own  bedroom, 
and  trying  his  prentice  hand  at  unfastening  them  again 
in  the  solitude  of  his  chamber. 

After  half  a  minute's  twisting  and  turning,  the  wards 
gave  way  gently  to  his  dexterous  pressure,  and  the  lid 
of  the  desk  lay  open  before  him.  Walter  Dene  took 
out  the  different  papers  one  by  one — there  was  no 
need  for  hurry,  and  he  was  not  a  nervous  person — till 
he  came  to  a  roll  of  parchment,  which  he  recognized 
at  once  as  the  expected  will.  He  unrolled  it  carefully 
and  quietly,  without  any  womanish  trembling  or  excite- 
ment— "  thank  Heaven,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I'm 
above  "uch  nonsense  as  that  " — and  sat  down  leisurely 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  I45 

to  read  it  in  the  big,  low,  velvet-covered  study  chair. 
As  he  did  so,  he  did  not  forget  to  lay  a  notched  foot- 
rest  for  his  feet,  and  to  put  the  little  Japanese  dish  on 
the  tiny  table  by  his  side  to  hold  his  cigar  ash.  "  And 
now,"  he  said,  "for  the  important  question  whether 
Uncle  Arthur  has  left  his  money  to  me,  or  to  Arthur, 
or  to  both  of  us  equally.  He  ought,  of  course, 
to  leave  at  least  half  to  me,  seeing  I  have  become  a 
curate  on  purpose  to  please  him,  instead  of  following 
my  natural  vocation  to  the  Bar ;  but  I  shouldn't  be  a 
bit  surprised  if  he  had  left  it  all  to  Arthur.  He's  a 
pig-headed  and  illogical  old  man,  the  vicar ;  and  he 
can  never  forgive  me,  I  believe,  because,  being  the 
eldest  son,  I  wasn't  called  after  him  by  my  father  and 
mother.  As  if  that  was  my  fault !  Some  people's 
ideas  of  personal  responsibility  are  so  ridiculously 
muddled." 

He  composed  himself  quietly  in  the  armchair,  and 
glanced  rapidly  at  the  will  through  the  meaningless 
preliminaries  till  he  came  to  the  significant  clauses. 
These  he  read  more  carefully.  "  All  my  estate  in  the 
county  of  Dorset,  and  the  messuage  or  tenement 
known  as  Redlands,  in  the  parish  of  Lode,  in  the 
county  of  Devon,  to  my  dear  nephew,  Arthur  Dene," 
he  said  to  himself,  slowly  :  "  Oh,  this  will  never  do." 
"  And  I  give  and  bequeath  to  my  said  nephew,  Arthur 
Dene,  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds,  three  per 
cent,  consolidated  annuities,  now  standing  in  my  name" 
— "Oh,  this  is  atrocious,  quite  atrocious!  What's 
this  ?"  "And  I  give  and  bequeath  to  my  dear  nephew, 
Walter  Dene,  the  residue  of  my  personal  estate  " — 
**  and  so  forth.  Oh,  no.  That's  quite  sufficient.  This 
must  be  rectified.     The  residuary  legatee  would  only 


...  ;>.-,     .J  ..  ■.  Y 


146  STRANGE  STORIES. 

come  in  for  a  few  hundreds  or  so.  It*s  quitv^ 
preposterous.  The  vicar  was  always  an  ill-tempered, 
cantankerous,  unaccountable  person,  but  I  wonder  he 
has  the  face  to  sit  opposite  me  at  dinner  after  that." 

He  hummed  an  air  from  Schubert,  and  sat  a  moment 
looking  thoughtfully  at  the  will.  Then  he  said  to 
himself  quietly,  "  The  simplest  thing  to  do  would  be 
merely  to  scrape  out  or  take  out  with  chemicals  the 
name  Arthur,  substituting  the  name  Walter,  and  vice 
versd.  That's  a  very  small  matter ;  a  man  who  draws 
as  well  as  I  do  ought  to  be  able  easily  to  imitate  a 
copying  clerk's  engrossing  hand.  But  it  would  be 
madness  to  attempt  it  now  and  here ;  I  want  a  little 
practice  first.  At  the  same  time,  I  mustn't  keep  the 
will  out  a  moment  longer  than  is  necessary ;  my  uncle 
may  return  by  some  accident  before  I  expect  him  ; 
and  the  true  philosophy  of  life  consists  in  invariably 
minimizing  the  adverse  chances.  This  will  was 
evidently  drawn  up  bj^  Watson  and  Blenkiron,  of  Chan- 
cery Lane.  I'll  write  to-morrow  and  get  them  to  draw 
up  a  will  for  me,  leaving  all  I  possess  to  Arthur.  The 
same  clerk  is  pretty  sure  to  engross  it,  and  that'll  give 
me  a  model  for  the  two  names  on  which  I  can  do  a 
little  preliminary  practice.  Besides,  I  can  try  the  stuff 
Wharton  told  me  about,  for  making  ink  fade,  on  the 
same  parchment.  That  will  be  killing  two  birds  with 
one  stone,  certainly.  And  now  if  I  don't  make  haste 
I  shan't  have  time  to  write  my  sermon." 

He  replaced  the  will  calmly  in  the  desk,  fastened 
the  lock  again  with  a  delicate  twirl  of  the  pick,  and 
sat  down  in  his  armchair  to  compose  his  discourse  for 
to-morrow's  evensong.  "  It's  not  a  bad  bit  of 
rhetoric,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  read  it  over  for  cor- 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  I47 

rection,  "but  I'm  not  sure  that  I  haven't  plagiarized  a 
Httle  too  freely  from  Montaigne  and  dear  old  Burton. 
What  a  pity  it  must  be  thrown  away  upon  a  Churn- 
side  congregation  !  Not  a  soul  in  the  whole  place  will 
appreciate  a  word  of  it,  except  Christina.  Well,  well, 
that  alone  is  enough  reward  for  any  man."  And  he 
knocked  off  his  ash  pensively  into  the  Japanese  ash- 
pan. 

During  the  course  of  the  next  week  Walter  practised 
diligently  the  art  of  imitating  handwriting.  He  got 
his  will  drawn  up  and  engrossed  at  Watson  and  Blenk- 
iron's  (without  signing  it,  bien  entcndii) ;  and  he  spent 
many  solitary  hours  in  writing  the  two  names  "  Wal- 
ter "  and  "Arthur"  on  the  spare  end  of  parchment, 
after  the  manner  of  the  engrossing  clerk.  He  also 
tested  the  stuff  for  making  the  ink  fade  to  his  own 
perfect  satisfaction.  And  on  the  next  occasion  when 
his  uncle  was  safely  off  the  premises  for  three  hours, 
he  took  the  will  once  more  deliberately  from  the  desk, 
removed  the  obnoxious  letters  with  scrupulous  care, 
and  wrote  in  his  own  name  in  place  of  Arthur's  so 
that  even  the  engrossing  clerk  himself  would  hardly 
have  known  the  'difference.  "There,"  he  said  to  him- 
self approvingly,  as  he  took  down  quiet  old  George 
Herbert  from  the  shelf  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  an  hour's 
smoke  after  the  business  was  over,  "that's  one  good 
deed  well  done,  anyhow.  I  have  the  calm  satisfaction 
of  a  clear  conscience.  The  vicar's  proposed  arrange- 
ment was  really  most  unfair;  I  have  substituted  for  it 
what  Aristotle  would  have  rightly  called  true  distribu- 
tive justice.  For  though  I've  left  all  the  property  to 
myself,  by  the  unfortunate  necessity  of  the  case,  of 
course  I  won't  take  it  all.     I'll  be  juster  than  the  vicar. 


148  STRANGE  STORIES. 

Arthur  shall  have  his  fair  share,  which  is  more,  I 
believe,  than  he'd  have  done  for  me ;  but  I  hate 
squalid  money-grubbing.  If  brothers  can't  be  gener- 
ous and  brotherly  to  one  another,  what  a  wretched, 
sordid  little  life  this  of  ours  would  really  be!" 

Next  Sunday  mgrning  the  vicar  preached,  and  Wal- 
ter sat  looking  up  at  him  reflectively  from  his  place  in 
the  chancel.  A  beautiful  clear-cut  face,  the  curate's,  and 
seen  to  great  advantage  from  the  doctor's  pew,  set  off 
by  the  white  surplice,  and  upturned  in  quiet  medita- 
tion towards  the  elder  priest  in  the  pulpit.  Walter 
was  revolving  many  things  in  his  mind,  and  most  of 
all  one  adverse  chance  which  he  could  not  just  then 
see  his  way  to  minimize.  Any  day  his  uncle  might 
take  it  into  his  head  to  read  over  the  will  and  discover 
the — ah,  well,  the  rectification.  Walter  was  a  man  of 
too  much  delicacy  of  feeling  even  to  think  of  it  to 
himself  as  a  fraud  or  a  forgery.  Then,  again,  the  vicar 
was  not  a  very  old  man  after  all  ;  he  might  live  for  an 
indefinite  period,  and  Christina  and  himself  might  lose 
all  the  best  years  of  their  life  waiting  for  a  useless  per- 
son's natural  removal.  What  a  pity  that  threescore 
was  not  the  utmost  limit  of  human  life  !  For  his  own 
part,  like  the  Psalmist,  Walter  had  no  desire  to  out- 
live his  own  highest  tastes  and  powers  of  enjoyment. 
Ah,  well,  well,  man's  prerogative  is  to  better  and  im- 
prove upon  nature.  If  people  do  not  die  when  they 
ought,  then  it  becomes  clearly  necessary  for  philo- 
sophically minded  juniors  to  help  them  on  their  way 
artificially. 

It  was  an  ugly  necessity,  certainly ;  Walter  frankly 
recognized  that  fact  from  the  very  beginning,  and  he 
shrank  even  from  contemplating  it  ;  but  there  was  no 


THE   CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  I49 

other  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  The  old  man  had  al- 
ways been  a  selfish  bachelor,  with  no  love  for  anybody 
or  anything  on  earth  except  his  books,  his  coins,  his 
garden,  and  his  dinner  ;  he  was  growing  tired  of  all  ex- 
cept the  last ;  would  it  not  be  better  for  the  world  at 
large,  on  strict  utilitarian  principles,  that  he  should  go 
at  once?  True,  such  steps  are  usually  to  be  depre- 
cated ;  but  the  wise  man  is  a  law  unto  himself,  and 
instead  of  laying  down  the  wooden,  hard-and-fast  lines 
that  make  conventional  morality  so  much  a  rule  of 
thumb,  he  judges  every  individual  case  on  its  own 
particular  merits.  Here  was  Christina's  happiness 
and  his  own  on  the  one  hand,  with  many  collateral 
advantages  to  other  people,  set  in  the  scale  against  the 
feeble  remnant  of  a  selfish  old  man's  days  on  the 
other.  Walter  Dene  had  a  constitutional  horror  of 
taking  life  in  any  form,  and  especially  of  shedding 
blood  ;  but  he  flattered  himself  that  if  anything  of  the 
sort  became  clearly  necessary,  he  was  not  the  man  to 
shrink  from  taking  the  needful  measures  to  ensure  it, 
at  any  sacrifice  of  personal  comfort. 

All  through  the  next  week  Walter  turned  over  the 
subject  in  his  own  mind  ;  and  the  more  he  thought 
about  it,  the  more  the  plan  gained  in  definiteness  and 
consistency  as  detail  after  detail  suggested  itself  to 
him.  First  he  thought  of  poison.  Thatwas  the  clean- 
est and  neatest  way  of  managing  the  thing,  he 
considered ;  and  it  involved  the  least  unpleasant 
consequences.  To  stick  a  knife  or  shoot  a  bullet 
into  any  sentient  creature  was  a  horrid  and  revolt- 
ing act ;  to  put  a  little  tasteless  powder  into  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  let  a  man  sleep  off  his  life  quietly  was 
really  nothing  more  than  helping  him  involuntarily  to 


r     ■  •  '    '  .       ■  ,  V  -,.-•'< 


150  STRANGE   STORIES. 

a  delightful  euthanasia.  "  I  wish  anyone  would  do  as 
much  for  me  at  his  age,  without  telling  me  about  it," 
Walter  said  to  himself  seriously.  But  then  the  chances 
of  detection  would  be  much  increased  by  using  poison, 
and  Walter  felt  it  an  imperative  duty  to  do  nothing 
which  would  expose  Christina  to  the  shock  of  a  dis- 
covery. She  would  not  see  the  matter  in  the  same 
practical  light  as  he  did  ;  women  never  do;  their  mo- 
rality is  purely  conventional,  and  a  wise  man  will  do 
nothing  on  earth  to  shake  it.  You  cannot  buy  poison 
without  the  risk  of  exciting  question.  There  re- 
mained, then,  only  shooting  or  stabbing.  But  shoot- 
ing makes  an  awkward  noise,  and  attracts  attention 
at  the  moment ;  so  the  one  thing  possible  was  a  knife, 
unpleasant  as  that  conclusion  seemed  to  all  his  more 
delicate  feelings. 

Having  thus  decided,  Walter  Dene  proceeded  to  lay 
his  plans  with  deliberate  caution.  He  had  no  inten- 
tion whatsoever  of  being  detected,  though  his  method 
of  action  was  simplicity  itself.  It  was  only  bunglers 
and  clumsy  fools  who  got  caught  ;  he  knew  that  a  man 
of  his  intelligence  and  ability  would  not  make  such  an 
idiot  of  himself  as — well,  as  common  rufifians  always 
do.  He  took  his  old  American  bowie-knife,  bought 
years  ago  as  a  curiosity,  out  of  the  drawer  where  it  had 
lain  so  long.  It  was  very  rusty,  but  it  would  be  safer 
to  sharpen  it  privately  on  his  own  hone  and  strop  than 
to  go  asking  for  a  new  knife  at  a  shop  for  the  express 
purpose  of  enabling  the  shopman  afterwards  to  identify 
him.  He  sharpened  it  for  safety's  sake  during  sermon- 
hour  in  the  library,  with  the  door  locked  as  usual.  It 
took  a  long  time  to  get  off  all  the  rust,  and  his  arm  got 
quickly  tired.     Ohq  morning  as  he  was  polishing  away 


THE  CURATE  OF   CHURNSIDE.  I5I 

at  it,  he  was  stopped  for  a  moment  by  a  butterfly 
which  flapped  and  fluttered  against  the  dulled  window- 
panes.  "  Poor  thing,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  will  beat 
its  feathery  wings  to  pieces  in  its  struggles  ;"  and  he 
put  a  vase  of  Venetian  glass  on  top  of  it,  lifted  the 
sash  carefully,  and  let  the  creature  fly  away  outside  in 
the  broad  sunshine.  At  the  same  moment  the  vicar, 
who  was  strolling  with  his  King  Charlie  on  the  lawn, 
came  up  and  looked  in  at  the  window.  He  could  not 
have  seen  in  before,  because  of  the  dulled  and  painted 
diamonds. 

**  That's  a  murderous-looking  weapon,  Wally,"  he 
said,  with  a  smile,  as  his  glance  fell  upon  the  bowie  and 
hone.     "  What  do  you  use  it  for  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  an  American  bowie,"  Walter  answered 
carelessly.  "  I  bought  it  long  ago  for  a  curiosity,  and 
now  I'm  sharpening  it  up  to  help  me  in  carving  that 
block  of  walnut  wood."  And  he  ran  his  finger  lightly 
along  the  edge  of  the  blade  to  test  its  keenness.  What 
a  lucky  thing  that  it  was  the  vicar  himself,  and  not  the 
gardener  !  If  he  had  been  caught  by  anybody  else  the 
fact  would  have  been  fatal  evidence  after  all  was  over. 
"  M^fiez-vous  des  papillons,"  he  hummed  to  himself, 
after  Beranger,  as  he  shut  down  the  window.  "  One 
more  butterfly,  and  I  must  give  up  the  game  as  use- 
less." 

Meanwhile,  as  Walter  meant  to  make  a  clean  job  of 
it — hacking  and  hewing  clumsily  was  repulsive  to  all 
his  finer  feelings — he  began  also  to  study  carefully  the 
anatomy  of  the  human  back.  He  took  down  all  the 
books  on  the  subject  in  the  library,  and  by  their  aid 
discovered  exactly  under  which  ribs  the  heart  lay.  A 
little  observation  of  the  vicar,  compared  with  the  plates 


152  STRANGE  STORIES. 

in  Quain's  "  Anatomy,"  showed  him  precisely  at  what 
point  in  his  clerical  coat  the  most  vulnerable  interstice 
was  situated.  "  It's  a  horrid  thing  to  have  to  do,"  he 
thought  over  and  over  again  as  he  planned  it,  "but  it's 
the  only  way  to  secure  Christina's  happiness."  And 
so,  by  a  certain  bright  Friday  evening  in  August,  Wal- 
ter Dene  had  fully  completed  all  his  preparations. 

That  afternoon,  as  on  all  bright  afternoons  in  sum- 
mer, the  vicar  went  for  a  walk  in  the  grounds,  attended 
only  by  little  King  Charlie.  He  was  squire  and  par- 
son at  once  in  Churnside,  and  he  loved  to  make  the 
round  of  his  own  estate.  At  a  certain  gate  by  Selbury 
Copse  the  vicar  always  halted  to  rest  awhile,  leaning 
on  the  bar  and  looking  at  the  view  across  the  valley. 
It  was  a  safe  and  lonely  spot.  Walter  remained  at 
home  (he  was  to  take  the  regular  Friday  evensong)  and 
went  into  the  study  by  himself.  After  a  while  he  took 
his  hat,  not  without  trembling,  strolled  across  the 
garden,  and  then  made  the  short  cut  through  the 
copse,  so  as  to  meet  the  vicar  by  the  gate.  On  his 
way  he  heard  the  noise  of  the  Dennings  in  the  farm 
opposite,  out  rabbit-shooting  with  their  guns  and  fei*- 
rets  in  the  warren.  His  very  soul  shrank  within  him 
at  the  sound  of  that  brutal  sport.  **  Great  heavens  !" 
he  said  to  himself,  with  a  shudder  ;  "  to  think  how  I 
loathe  and  shrink  from  the  necessity  of  almost  pain- 
lessly killing  this  one  selfish  old  man  for  an  obviously 
good  reason,  and  those  creatures  there  will  go  out 
massacring  innocent  animals  with  the  aid  of  a  hideous 
beast  of  prey,  not  only  without  remorse,  but  actually 
by  way  of  amusement  !  I  thank  Heaven  I  am  not 
even  as  they  are."  Near  the  gate  he  came  upon  his 
uncle  quietly  and  naturally,  though  it  would  be  absurd 


THE  CURATE  OF  CIIURNSIDE.  1 53 

to  deny  that  at  that  supreme  moment  even  Walter 
Dene's  equable  heart  throbbed  "hard,  and  his  breath 
went  and  came  tremulously.  "Alone,"  he  thought  to 
himself,  "  and  nobody  near  ;  this  is  quite  providential," 
using  even  then,  in  thought,  the  familiar  phraseology 
of  his  profession. 

"A  lovely  afternoon.  Uncle  Arthur,"  he  said  as 
composedly  as  he  could,  accurately  measuring  the 
spot  on  the  vicar's  coat  with  his  eye  meanwhile.  "  The 
valley  looks  beautiful  in  this  light." 

"  Yes,  a  lovely  afternoon  Wally,  my  boy,  and 
an  exquisite  glimpse  down  yonder  into  the  church- 
yard." 

As  he  spoke,  Walter  half  leaned  upon  the  gate 
beside  him,  and  adjusted  the  knife  behind  the  vicar's 
back  scientifically.  Then,  without  a  word  more,  in 
spite  of  a  natural  shrinking,  he  drove  it  home  up  to 
the  haft,  with  a  terrible  effort  of  will,  at  the  exact 
spot  on  the  back  that  the  books  had  pointed  out  to 
him.  It  was  a  painful  thing  to  do,  but  he  did  it  care- 
fully and  well.  The  effect  of  Walter  Dene's  scientific 
prevision  was  even  more  instantaneous  than  he  had 
anticipated.  Without  a  single  cry,  without  a  sob  or  a 
contortion,  the  vicar's'  lifeless  body  fell  over  heavily 
by  the  side  of  the  gate.  It  rolled  down  like  a  log  into 
the  dry  ditch  beneath.  Walter  knelt  trembling  on  the 
ground  close  by,  felt  the  pulse  for  a  moment  to  assure 
himself  that  his  uncle  was  really  dead,  and  having  fully 
satisfied  himself  on  this  all-important  point,  proceeded 
to  draw  the  knife  neatly  out  of  the  wound.  He  had 
let  it  fall  in  the  body,  in  order  to  extricate  it  more 
easily  afterward,  and  not  risk  pulling  it  out  carelessly 
so   as  to  get  himself  covered   needlessly  by  tell-tale 


1 54  STRANGE  STORIES. 

drops  of  blood,  like  ordinary  clumsy  assassins.  But 
he  had  forgotten  to  reckon  with  little  King  Charlie. 
The  dog  jumped  piteously  upon  the  body  of  his  mas- 
ter, licked  the  wound  with  his  tongue,  and  refused  to 
allow  Walter  to  withdraw  the  knife.  It  would  be  un- 
safe to  leave  it  there,  for  it  might  be  recognized. 
*'  Minimize  the  adverse  chances,"  he  muttered  still  ; 
but  there  was  no  inducing  King  Charlie  to  move.  A 
struggle  might  result  in  getting  drops  of  blood  upon 
his  coat,  and  then,  great  heavens,  what  a  terrible 
awakening  for  Christina  !  *'  Oh,  Christina,  Christina, 
Christina,"  he  said  to  himself  piteously,  "  it  is  for  you 
only  that  I  could  ever  have  ventured  to  do  this  hid- 
eous thing."  The  blood  was  still  oozing  out  of  the 
narrow  slit,  and  saturating  the  black  coat,  and  Walter 
Dene  with  his  delicate  nerves  could  hardly  bear  to 
look  upon  it. 

At  last  he  summoned  up  resolution  to  draw  out  the 
knife  from  the  ugly  wound,  in  spite  of  King  Charlie, 
and  as  he  did  so,  oh,  horror !  the  little  dog  jumped  at 
it,  and  cut  his  left  fore-leg  against  the  sharp  edge  deep 
to  the  bone.  Here  was  a  pretty  accident  indeed  !  if 
Walter  Dene  had  been  a  common  heartless  murderer 
he  would  have  snatched  up  the  knife  immediately,  left 
the  poor  lame  dog  to  watch  and  bleed  beside  his  dead 
master,  and  skulked  off  hurriedly  from  the  mute  wit- 
ness to  his  accomplished  crime.  But  Walter  was  made 
of  very  different  mould  from  that ;  he  could  not  find 
it  in  his  heart  to  leave  a  poor  dumb  animal 
wounded  and  bleeding  for  hours  together,  alone  and 
unattended.  Just  at  first,  indeed,  he  tried  sophis- 
tically  to  persuade  himself  his  duty  to  Christina  de- 
manded that  he  should  go  away  at  once,  and  never 


THE  CURATE  OF  CIIURNSIDE.  1 55 

mind  the  sufferings  of  a  mere  spaniel ;  but  his  better 
nature  told  him  the  next  moment  that  such  soph- 
isms were  indefensible,  and  his  humane  instincts 
overcame  even  the  profound  instinct  of  self-preser- 
vation. He  sat  down  quietly  beside  the  warm  corpse. 
*' Thank  goodness,"  he  said  with  a  slight  shiver  of 
disgust,  **  I'm  not  one  of  those  weak-minded  people 
who  are  troubled  by  remorse.  They  would  be  so 
overcome  by  terror  at  what  they  had  done  that  they 
would  want  to  run  away  from  the  body  immediately, 
at  any  price.  But  I  don't  think  I  could  [qqX  remorse. 
It  is  an  incident  of  lower  natures — natures  that  arc 
capable  of  doing  actions  under  one  set  of  impulses, 
which  they  regret  when  another  set  comes  uppermost 
in  turn.  That  implies  a  want  of  balance,  an  imperfect 
co-ordination  of  parts  and  passions.  The  perfect 
character  is  consistent  with  itself ;  shame  and  repent- 
ance are  confessions  of  weakness.  For  my  part,  I 
never  do  anything  without  having  first  deliberately  de- 
cided that  it  is  the  best  or  the  only  thing  to  do  ;  and 
having  so  done  it,  I  do  not  draw  back  like  a  girl  from 
the  necessary  consequences  of  my  own  act.  No 
fluttering  or  running  away  for  me.  Still,  I  must 
admit  that  all  that  blood  does  look  very  ghastly. 
Poor  old  gentleman  !  I  believe  he  really  died  almost 
without  knowing  it,  and  that  is  certainly  a  great 
comfort  to  one  under  the  circumstances." 

He  took  King  Charlie  tenderly  in  his  hands,  without 
touching  the  wounded  leg,  and  drew  his  pocket  hand- 
kerchief softly  from  his  pocket.  *'  Poor  beastie,"  he 
said  aloud,  holding  out  the  cut  limb  before  him,  "you 
are  badly  hurt,  I'm  afraid  ;  but  it  wasn't  my  fault. 
We  must  see  what   we  can  do  for  you."     Then  he 


156  STRANGE   STORIES. 

wrapped  the  handkerchief  deftly  around  it,  without 
letting  any  blood  show  through,  pressed  the  dog  close 
against  his  breast,  and  picked  up  the  knife  gingerly 
by  the  reeking  handle.  **  A  fool  of  a  fellow  would 
throw  it  into  the  river,"  he  thought,  with  a  curl  of  his 
graceful  lip.  "  They  always  dredge  the  river  after 
these  incidents.  I  shall  just  stick  it  down  a  hole  in 
the  hedge  a  hundred  yards  off.  The  police  have  no 
invention,  dull  donkeys ;  they  never  dredge  the 
hedges."  And  he  thrust  it  well  down  a  disused  rabbit 
burrow,  filling  in  the  top  neatly  with  loose  mould. 

Walter  Dene  meant  to  have  gone  home  quietly  and 
said  evensong,  leaving  the  discovery  of  the  body  to  be 
made  at  haphazard  by  others,  but  this  unfortunate 
accident  to  King  Charlie  compelled  him  against  his 
will  to  give  the  first  alarm.  It  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  take  the  dog  to  the  veterinary  at  once,  or  the 
poor  little  fellow  might  bleed  to  death  incontinently, 
"  One's  best  efforts,"  he  thought,  "are  always  liable  to 
these  unfortunate  contretemps.  I  meant  merely  to  re- 
move a  superfluous  person  from  an  uncongenial  envi- 
ronment ;  yet  I  can't  manage  it  without  at  the  same 
time  seriously  injuring  a  harmlesss  little  creature  that 
I  really  love."  And  with  one  last  glance  at  the  life- 
less thing  behind  him,  he  took  his  way  regretfully 
along  the  ordinary  path  back  towards  the  peaceful 
village  of  Churnside. 

Halfway  down  the  lane,  at  the  entrance  of  the  vil- 
lage, he  met  one  of  his  parishioners.  "  Tom,"  he  said 
boldly,  "have  you  seen  anything  of  the  vicar?  I'm 
afraid  he's  got  hurt  somehow.  Here's  poor  little  King 
Charlie  come  limping  back  with  his  leg  cut," 


,.J.. 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  I57 

"  He  went  down  the  road,  zur,  'arf  an  hour  zince, 
and  I  arn't  zeen  him  afterwards." 

"  Tell  the  servants  at  the  vicarage  to  look  around 
the  grounds,  then  ;  I'm  afraid  he  has  fallen  and  hurt 
himself.  I  must  take  the  dog  at  once  to  Perkins's,  or 
else  I  shall  be  late  for  evensong." 

The  man  went  off  straight  toward  the  vicarage,  and 
Walter  Dene  turned  immediately  with  the  dog  in  his 
arms  into  the  village  veterinary 's. 


II. 

The  servants  from  the  vicarage  were  not  the  first 
persons  to  hit  upon  the  dead  body  of  the  vicar.  Joe 
Harley,  the  poacher,  was  out  reconnoitring  that  after- 
noon in  the  vicar's  preserves ;  and  five  minutes  after 
Walter  Dene  had  passed  down  the  far  side  of  the 
hedge,  Joe  Harley  skulked  noiselessly  from  the  or- 
chard up  to  the  cover  of  the  gate  by  Selbury  Copse. 
He  crept  through  the  open  end  by  the  post  (for  it  was 
against  Joe's  principles  under  any  circumstances  to 
climb  over  an  obstacle  of  any  sort,  and  so  needlessly 
expose  himself),  and  he  was  just  going  to  slink  off 
along  the  other  hedge,  having  wires  and  traps  in  his 
pocket,  when  his  boot  struck  violently  against  a  soft 
object  in  the  ditch  underfoot.  It  struck  so  violently 
that  it  crushed  in  the  object  with  the  force  of  the  im- 
pact ;  and  when  Joe  came  to  look  at  what  the  object 
might  be,  he  found  to  his  horror  that  it  was  the  bruised 
and  livid  face  of  the  old  parson.  Joe  had  had  a  brush 
with  keepers  more  than  once,  and  had  spent  several 
months  of  seclusion  in  Dorchester  Gaol ;  but,  in  spite 


\ 


158  STRANC.R  STORIES. 

of  his  familiarity  with  minor  forms  of  lawlessness,  he 
was  moved  enough  in  all  conscience  by  this  awful  antl 
unexpected  discovery.  He  turned  the  body  over  clum- 
sily with  his  hands,  and  saw  that  it  had  been  stabbed 
in  the  back  once  only.  In  doing  so  he  trod  in  a  little 
blood,  and  i^ot  a  drop  or  two  on  his  sleeve  and  trou- 
sers;  for  the  pool  was  bii^i^er  now,  and  Joe  was  not  so 
handy  or  dainty  with  his  fini^crs  as  the  idyllic  curate. 

It  was  an  awful  dilemma,  indeed,  for  a  confirmed  and 
convicted  poacher.  Should  he  i^ive  the  alarm  then 
and  there,  boldly,  trusting  to  his  innocence  for  vindi- 
cation, and  helping  the  police  to  discover  the  mur- 
derer? Why,  that  would  be  sheer  suicide,  no  doubt  ; 
**  for  who  but  would  believe,"  he  thought,  '*  t'was  me 
as  done  it  ?"  Or  should  he  slink  away  quietly  and  say 
nothing,  leaving  others  to  find  the  body  as  best  they 
might  ?  That  was  dangerous  enough  in  its  way  if  any- 
bodv  saw  him,  but  not  so  dangerous  as  the  other 
course.  In  an  evil  hour  for  his  own  chances  Joe 
Ilarley  chose  that  worse  counsel,  and  slank  off  in  his 
familiar  crouching  fashion  towards  the  opposite  corner 
of  the  copse. 

On  the  way  he  heard  John's  vofce  holloaing  for  his 
master,  and  kept  close  to  the  hedge  till  he  had  quite 
turned  the  corner.  But  John  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
him  too,  and  John  did  not  forget  it  when,  a  few 
minutes  later,  he  came  upon  the  horrid  sight  beside 
the  gate  of  Selbury  Copse. 

Meanwhile  Walter  had  taken  King  Charlie  to  the 
veterinary's  and  had  his  leg  bound  and  bandaged 
securely.  He  had  also  gone  down  to  the  church,  got 
out  his  surplice,  and  begun  to  put  it  on  in  the  vestry 
for   evensong,  when  a  messenger  came  at  hot   haste 


THE  CUUATE  OF  CIIURNSIDE.  1  59 

from  the  vicarage,  with  news  that  Master  Walter  must 
come  up  at  once,  for  the  vicar  was  murdered. 

"  Murdered  !'*  Walter  Dene  said  to  himself  slowly 
half  aloud;  "murdered!  how  horrible  !  Murdered!" 
It  was  an  ugly  word,  and  he  turned  it  over  with  a 
genuine  thrill  of  horror.  That  w:is  what  they  would 
say  of  him  if  ever  the  thing  came  to  be  discovered  ! 
What  an  inappropriate  classification  ! 

He  threw  aside  the  surplice,  and  rushed  up  hurriedly 
to  the  vicarage.  Already  the  servants  had  brought  in 
the  body,  and  laid  it  out  in  the  clothes  it  wore,  on  the 
vicar's  own  bed.  Walter  Dene  went  in,  shuddering, 
to  look  at  it.  To  his  utter  amazement,  the  face  was 
battered  in  horribly  and  almost  unrecognizably  by  a 
blow  or  kick  !  What  could  that  hideous  mutilation 
mean  ?  He  could  not  imagine.  It  was  an  awful  mys- 
tery. Great  heavens  !  just  fancy  if  any  one  were  to 
take  it  into  his  head  that  he,  Walter  Dene,  had  done 
that — had  kicked  a  defenceless  old  gentleman  brutally 
about  the  face  like  a  common  London  ruffian  !  The 
idea  was  too  horrible  to  be  borne  for  a  moment. 
It  unmanned  him  utterly,  and  he  hid  his  face  between 
his  two  hands  and  sobbed  aloud  like  one  broken- 
hearted. "  This  day's  work  has  been  too  much  for 
my  nerves,"  he  thought  to  himself  between  the  sobs  ; 
**  but  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  I  should  give  way  now 
completely." 

That  night  was  mainly  taken  up  with  the  formalities 
of  all  such  cases  ;  and  when  at  last  Walter  Dene  went 
off,  tired  and  nerve-worn,  to  bed,  about  midnight,  he 
could  not  sleep  much  for  thinking  of  the  mystery. 
The  murder  itself  didn't  trouble  him  greatly  ;  that  was 
over  and  past  now,  and  he  felt  sure  his   precautions 


, '  •  V ;,   ,  V 


l6o  STRANGE  STORIES. 

had  been  amply  sufficient  to  protect  him  even  from 
the  barest  suspicion ;  but  he  couldn't  fathom  the 
mystery  of  that  battered  and  mutilated  face!  Some- 
body must  have  seen  the  corpse  between  the  time  of 
the  murder  and  the  discovery  !  Who  could  that  some- 
body have  been  ?  and  what  possible  motive  could  he 
have  had  for  such  a  horrible  piece  of  purposeless 
brutality  ? 

As  for  the  servants,  in  solemn  conclave  in  the  hall, 
they  had  unanimously  but  one  theory  to  account  for 
all  the  facts  :  some  poacher  or  other,  for  choice  Joe 
Harley,  had  come  across  the  vicar  in  the  copse,  w^ith 
gun  and  traps  in  hand.  The  wretch  had  seen  he  was 
discovered,  had  felled  the  poor  old  vicar  by  a  blow  in 
the  face  with  the  butt-end  of  his  rifle,  and  after  he  fell 
fainting,  had  stabbed  him  for  greater  security  in  the 
back.  That  was  such  an  obvious  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty, that  nobody  in  the  servants'  hall  had  a  moment's 
hesitation  in  accepting  it. 

When  Walter  heard  next  morning  early  that  Joe 
Harley  had  been  arrested  overnight,  on  John's  infor- 
mation, his  horror  and  surprise  at  the  news  were 
wholly  unaffected.  Here  was  another  new  difficulty, 
indeed.  "  When  I  did  the  thing,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  I  never  thought  of  that  possibility.  I  took  it  for 
granted  it  would  be  a  mystery,  a  problem  for  the  local 
police  (who,  of  course,  could  no  more  solve  it  than 
they  could  solve  the  pons-asinoruui),  but  it  never 
struck  me  they  would  arrest  an  innocent  person  on  the 
charge  instead  of  me.  This  is  horrible.  It's  so  easy 
to  make  out  a  case  against  a  poacher,  and  hang  him 
for  it,  on  suspicion.  One's  whole  sense  of  justice  re- 
volts against  the  thing.     After  all,  there's  a  great  deal 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  l6l 

to  be  said  in  favor  of  the  ordinary  commonplace 
morality :  it  prevents  complications.  A  man  of  deli- 
cate sensibilities  oughtn't  to  kill  anybody ;  he  lets 
himself  in  for  all  kinds  of  unexpected  contingencies 
without  knowing  it." 

At  the  coroner's  niquest  things  looked  very  black 
indeed  for  Joe  Harley.  Walter  gave  his  evidence  first, 
showing  how  he  had  found  King  Charlie  wounded  in 
the  lane  ;  and  then  the  others  gave  theirs,  as  to  the 
search  for  and  finding  of  the  body.  John  in  particular 
swore  to  having  seen  a  man's  back  and  head  slinking 
away  by  the  hedge  while  they  were  looking  for  the 
vicar  ;  and  that  back  and  head  he  felt  sure  were  Joe 
Harley's.  To  Walter's  infinite  horror  and  disgust,  the 
coroner's  jury  returned  a  verdict  of  willful  murder 
against  the  poor  poacher.  What  other  verdict  could 
they  possibly  have  given  in  accordance  with  such  evi- 
dence ? 

The  trial  of  Joe  Harley  for  the  willful  murder  of 
the  Reverend  Arthur  Dene  was  fixed  for  the  next 
Dorchester  Assizes.  In  the  interval,  Walter  Dene,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  placid  life,  knew  what  it  was 
to  undergo  a  mental  struggle.  Wliatever  happened, 
he  could  not  let  Joe  Harley  be  hanged  for  this  murder. 
His  whole  soul  rose  up  within  him  in  loathing  for  such 
an  act  of  hideous  injustice.  For  though  Walter  Dene's 
code  of  morality  was  certainly  not  tlie  conventional 
one,  as  he  so  often  boasted  to  himself,  he  was  not  by 
any  means  without  any  code  of  morals  of  any  sort. 
He  could  commit  a  murder  where  he  thought  it  neces- 
sary, but  he  could  not  let  an  innocent  man  suffer  in 
his  stead.  His  ethical  judgment  on  that  point  was 
just  as  clear  and  categorical  as  the  judgment   which 


l62  STRANGE   STORIES. 

told  him  he  was  in  duty  bound  to  murder  his  uncle. 
For  Walter  did  not  argue  with  himself  on  moral  ques- 
tions :  he  perceived  the  right  and  necessary  thing 
intuitively  ;  he  was  a  law  to  himself,  and  he  obeyed 
his  own  law  implicitly,  for  good  or  for  evil.  Such  men 
are  capable  of  horrible  and  diabolically  deliberate 
crimes ;  but  they  are  capable  of  great  and  genuine 
self-sacrifices  also. 

Walter  made  no  secret  in  the  village  of  his  disin- 
clination to  believe  in  Joe  Harley's  guilt.  Joe  was  a 
rough  fellow,  he  said,  certainly,  and  he  had  no  objec- 
tion to  taking  a  pheasant  or  two,  and  even  to  having  a 
free  fight  with  the  keepers  ;  but,  after  all,  our  game 
laws  were  an  outrageous  piece  of  class  legislation,  and 
he  could  easily  understand  how  the  poor,  whose 
sense  of  justice  they  outraged,  should  be  so  set  against 
them.  He  could  not  think  Joe  Harley  was  capable  of 
a  detestable  crime.  Besides,  he  had  seen  him  himself 
within  a  few  minutes  before  and  after  the  murder. 
Everybody  thought  it  such  a  proof  of  the  young  par- 
son's generous  and  kindly  disposition  ;  he  had  cer- 
tainly the  charity  which  thinketh  no  evil.  Even  though 
his  own  uncle  had  been  brutally  murdered  on  his  own 
estate,  he  checked  his  natural  feelings  of  resentment, 
and  refused  to  believe  that  one  of  his  own  parishion- 
ers could  have  been  guilty  of  the  crime.  Nay,  more, 
so  anxious  was  he  that  substantial  justice  should  be 
done  the  accused,  and  so  confident  was  he  of  his  inno- 
cence, that  he  promised  to  provide  counsel  for  him  at 
his  own  expense ;  and  he  provided  two  of  the  ablest 
barristers  on  the  Western  circuit. 

Before  the  trial,  Walter  Dene  had  come,  after  a  ter- 
rible  internal   struggle,  to  an    awful   resolution.     He 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  163 

would  do  everything  he  could  for  Joe  Harley  ;  but  if 
the  verdict  went  against  him,  he  was  resolved  then  and 
there,  in  open  court,  to  confess,  before  judge  and  jury, 
the  whole  truth.  It  would  be  a  horrible  thing  for 
Christina  ;  he  knew  that ;  but  he  could  not  love  Chris- 
tina so  much,  "  loved  he  not  honor  more  ";  and  honor, 
after  his  own  fashion,  he  certainly  loved  dearly. 
Though  he  might  be  false  to  all  that  all  the  world 
thought  right,  it  was  ingrained  in  the  very  fibre  of  his 
soul  to  be  true  to  his  own  inner  nature  at  least.  Night 
after  night  he  lay  awake,  tossing  on  his  bed,  and  pic- 
turing to  his  mind's  eye  every  detail  of  that  terrible 
disclosure.  The  jury  would  bring  in  a  verdict  of 
guilty  ;  then,  before  the  judge  put  on  his  black  cap, 
he,  Walter,  would  stand  up  and  tell  them  that  he  could 
not  let  another  man  hang  for  his  crime  ;  he  would 
have  the  whole  truth  out  before  them  ;  and  then  he 
would  die,  for  he  would  have  taken  a  little  bottle  of 
poison  at  the  first  sound  of  the  verdict.  As  for  Chris- 
tina— oh,  Christina ! — Walter  Dene  could  not  dare  to 
let  himself  think  upon  that.  It  was  horrible  ;  it  was 
unendurable  ;  it  was  torture  a  thousand  times  worse 
than  dying ;  but  still,  he  must  and  would  face  it.  For 
in  certain  phases,  Walter  Dene,  forger  and  murderer 
as  he  was,  could  be  positively  heroic. 

The  day  of  the  trial  came,  and  Walter  Dene,  pale 
and  haggard  with  much  vigil,  walked  in  a  dream  and 
faintly  from  his  hotel  to  the  court-house.  Everybody 
present  noticed  what  a  deep  effect  the  shock  of  his 
uncle's  death  had  had  upon  him.  He  was  thinner  and 
more  bloodless  than  usual,  and  his  dulled  eyes  looked 
black  and  sunken  in  their  sockets.  Indeed,  he  seemed 
to  have  suffered  far  more  intensely  than  the  prisoner 


164  STRANGE  STORIES. 

himself,  who  walked  in  firmer  and  more  erect,  and 
took  his  seat  doggedly  in  the  familiar  dock.  He  had 
been  there  more  than  once  before,  to  say  the  truth, 
though  never  before  on  such  an  errand.  Yet  mere 
habit,  when  he  got  there,  made  him  at  once,  assume 
the  hangdog  look  of  the  consciously  guilty.. 

Walter  sat  and  watched  and  listened,  still  in  a 
dream,  but  without  once  betraying  in  his  face  the  real 
depth  of  his  innermost  feelings.  In  the  body  of  the 
court  he  saw  Joe's  wife  weeping  profusely  and  osten- 
tatiously, after  the  fashion,  considered  to  be  correct  by 
her  class  ;  and  though  he  pitied  her  from  the  bottom 
of  his  heart,  he  could  only  think  by  contrast  of  Chris- 
tina. What  were  that  good  woman's  tears  and  sor- 
rows by  the  side  of  the  grief  and  shame  and  unspeak- 
able horror  he  might  have  to  bring  upon  his  Chris- 
tina ?  Pray  Heaven  the  shock,  if  it  came,  might  kill 
her  outright;  that  would  at  least  be  better  than  that 
she  should  live  long  years  to  remember.  More  than 
judge,  or  jury,  or  prisoner,  Walter  Dene  saw  every- 
where, behind  the  visible  shadows  that  thronged  the 
court,  that  one  persistent  prospective  picture  of  heart- 
broken Christina. 

The  evidence  for  the  prosecution  told  with  damn- 
ing force  against  the  prisoner.  He  was  a  notorious 
poacher ;  the  vicar  was  a  game-preserver.  He  had 
poaciied  more  than  once  on  the  ground  of  the  vicarage. 
He  was  shown  by  numerous  witnesses  to  have  had  an 
animus  against  the  vicar.  He  had  been  seen,  not  in 
the  face,  to  be  sure,  but  still  seen  and  recognized, 
slinking  away,  immediately  after  the  fact,  from  the 
scene  of  the  murder.  And  the  prosecution  had  found 
stains   of  blood,  believed  by  scientific  experts  to  be 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  165 

human,  on  the  clothing  he  had  worn  when  he  was  ar- 
rested. Walter  Dene  listened  now  with  terrible  una- 
bated earnestness,  for  he  knew  that  in  reality  it  was 
he  himself  who  was  upon  his  trial.  He  himself,  and 
Christina's  happiness  ;  for  if  the  poacher  were  found 
guilty,  he  was  firmly  resolved,  beyond  hope  of  respite, 
to  tell  all,  and  face  the  unspeakable. 

The  defence  seemed  indeed  a  weak  and  feeble  theory. 
Somebody  unknown  had  committed  the  murder,  and 
this  somebody,  seen  from  behind,  had  been  mistaken 
by  John  for  Joe  Harley.  The  blood-stains  need  not 
be  human,  as  the  cross-examination  went  to  show,  but 
were  only  known  by  counter-experts  to  be  mammalian 
— perhaps  a  rabbit's.  Every  poacher — and  it  was  ad- 
mitted that  Joe  was  a  poacher — was  liable  to  get  his 
clothes  blood-stained.  Grant  they  were  human,  Joe, 
it  appeared,  had  himself  once  shot  off  his  little  finger. 
All  these  points  came  out  from  the  examination  of 
the  earlier  witnesses.  At  last,  counsel  put  the  curate 
himself  into  the  box,  and  proceeded  to  examine  him 
briefly  as  a  witness  for  the  defence. 

Walter  Dene  stepped,  pale  and  haggard  still,  into 
the  witness-box.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  make 
one  final  effort  "  for  Christina's  happiness."  He 
fumbled  nervously  all  the  time  at  a  small  glass  phial  in 
his  pocket,  but  he  answere4  all  questions  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  and  he  kept  down  his  emotions 
with  a  wonderful  composure  which  excited  the  admira- 
tion of  everybody  present.  There  was  a  general  hush 
to  hear  him.  Did  he  see  the  prisoner,  Joseph  Harley, 
on  the  day  of  the  murder  ?  Yes,  three  times.  When 
•was  the  first  occasion?  From  the  library  window  just 
before  the  vicar  left  the  house.      What  was  Joseph 


1 66  STRANGE   STORIES. 

Harley  then  doing?  Walking  in  the  opposite  direction 
from  the  copse.  Did  Joseph  Harley  recognize  him  ? 
Yes,  he  touched  his  hat  to  him.  When  was  the  second 
occasion  ?  About  ten  minutes  later  when  he,  Walter, 
was  leaving  the  vicarage  for  a  stroll.  Did  Joseph  Har- 
ley then  recognize  him  ?  Yes  he  touched  his  hat 
again,  and  the  curate  said,  "  Good-morning,  Joe  ;  a  fine 
day  for  walking."  When  was  the  third  time  ?  Ten 
minutes  later  again,  when  he  was  returning  from  the 
lane,  carrying  wounded  little  King  Charlie.  Would  it 
have  been  physically  possible  for  the  prisoner  to  go 
from  the  vicarage  to  the  spot  where  the  murder  was 
committed,  and  back  again,  in  the  interval  between 
the  first  two  occasions?  It  would  not.  Would  it  have 
been  physically  possible  for  the  prisoner  to  do  so  in 
the  interval  between  the  second  and  third  occasions  ? 
It  would  not. 

*' Then  in  your  opinion,  Mr.  Dene,  it  is  physically 
impossible  that  Joseph  Harley  can  have  committed 
this  murder  ?" 

"In  my  opinion,  it  is  physically  impossible." 
While    Walter    Dene    solemnly   swore    amid     dead 
silence  to  this  treble  lie,  he  did  not  dare  to  look  Joe 
"Harley   once   in   the    face.;   and    while    Joe     Harley 
listened  in  amazement  to' this  unexpected  assistance 
to  his  case — -for  counsel,  suspecting  a  mistaken  identity, 
had  not  questioned  him  too  closely  on  the  subject — he 
had  presence  of  mind  enough  not  to  let  his  astonish- 
ment show  upon  his  stolid  features.     But  when  Walter 
'  had  finished  his  evidence  in  chief,  he  stole  a  glance  at 
Joe  ;  and  for  a  moment  their  eyes  met.     Then  Walter's 
fell  in  utter  self-humiliation  ;    and   he   said   to   himself 
fiercely,  "  I  would  not  so  have  debased  and  degraded 


THE  CURATE  OF  CIIURNSIDE.  l67 

myself  before  any  man  to  save  my  own  life — what  is 
my  life  worth  me,  after  all  ? — but  to  save  Christina, 
to  save  Christina,  to  save  Christina !  I  have  brought 
all  this  upon  myself  for  Christina's  sake." 

Meanwhile,  Joe  Harley  was  asking  himself  curiously 
what  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  new  move  on 
parson's  part.  It  was  deliberate  perjury,  Joe  felt  sure, 
for  parson  could  not  have  mistaken  another  person  for 
him  three  times  over  ;  but  what  good  end  for  himself 
could  parson  hope  to  gain  by  it  "^  If  it  was  he  who 
had  murdered  the  vicar  (as  Joe  strongly  suspected), 
why  did  he  not  try  to  press  the  charge  home  against 
the  first  person  who  happened  to  be  accused,  instead 
of  committing  a  distinct  perjury  on  purpose  to  com- 
pass his  acquittal  ?  Joe  Harley,  with  his  simple  every- 
day criminal  mind,  could  not  be  expected  to  unravel 
the  intricacies  of  so  complex  a  personality  as  Walter 
Dene's.  But  even  there,  on  trial  for  his  life,  he  could 
not  help  wondering  what  on  earth  young  parson  could 
be  driving  at  in  this  business. 

The  judge  summed  up  with  the  usual  luminously 
obvious  alternate  platitudes.  If  the  jury  thought  that 
John  had  really  seen  Joe  Harley,  and  that  the  curate 
was  mistaken  in  the  person  whom  he  thrice  saw,  or 
was  mistaken  once  only  out  of  the  thrice,  or  had  mis- 
calculated the  time  between  each  occurrence,  or  the 
time  necessary  to  cover  the  ground  to  the  gate,  then 
they  would  find  the  prisoner  guilty  of  willful  murder. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  they  believed  John  had  judged 
hastily,  and  that  the  curate  had  really  seen  the  prisoner 
three  separate  times,  and  that  he  had  rightly  calculated 
all  the  intervals,  then  they  would  find  the  prisoner  not 
guilty.     The  prisoner's  case  rested  entirely  upon  the 


l68  STRANGE   STORIES. 

alibi.  Supposing  they  thought  there  was  a  doubt  in 
the  matter,  they  should  give  the  prisoner  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt.  Walter  noticed  that  the  judge  said  in 
every  other  case,  "  If  you  believe  the  witness  So-and- 
so,"  but  that  in  his  case  he  made  no  such  discourteous 
reservation.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  one  person  whose 
conduct  nobody  for  a  moment  dreamt  of  calling  in 
question  was  the  real  murderer. 

The  jury  retired  for  more  than  an  hour.  During  all 
that  time  two  men  stood  there  in  mortal  suspense, 
intent  and  haggard,  both  upon  their  trial,  but  not  both 
equally.  The  prisoner  in  the  dock  fixed  his  arms  in  a 
dogged  and  sullen  attitude,  the  color  half  gone  from 
his  brown  cheek,  and  his  eyes  straining  with  excite- 
ment, but  showing  no  outward  sign  of  any  emotion 
except  the  craven  fear  of  death.  Walter  Dene  stood 
almost  fainting  in  the  body  of  the  court,  his  bloodless 
fingers  still  fumbling  nervously  at  the  little  phial,  and 
his  face  deadly  pale  with  the  awful  pallor  of  a  devour- 
ing horror.  His  heart  scarcely  beat  at  all,  but  at  each 
long,  slow  pulsation  he  could  feel  it  throb  distinctly 
within  his  bosom.  He  saw  or  heard  nothing  before 
him,  but  kept  his  aching  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  door 
by  which  the  jury  were  to  enter.  Junior  counsel 
nudged  one  another  to  notice  his  agitation,  and 
whispered  that  the  poor  young  curate  had  evidently 
never  seen  a  man  tried  for  his  life  before. 

At  last  the  jury  entered.  Joe  and  Walter  waited, 
each  in  his  own  manner,  breathless  for  the  verdict. 
"  Do  you  find  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not 
guilty  of  willful  murder?"  Walter  took  the  little 
phial  from  his  pocket,  and  held  it  carefully  between 
his  finger  and  thumb.     The  awful  moment  had  come  ; 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  1 69 

the  next  word  would  decide  the  fate  of  himself  and 
Christina.  The  foreman  of  the  jury  looked  up 
solemnly,  and  answered  with  slow  distinctness,  "  Not 
guilty."  The  prisoner  leaned  back  vacantly,  and 
wiped  his  forehead  ;  but  there  was  an  awful  cry  of 
relief  from  one  mouth  in  the  body  of  the  court,  and 
Walter  Dene  sank  back  into  the  arms  of  the  bystan- 
ders, exhausted  with  suspense  and  overcome  by  the 
reaction.  The  crowd  remarked  among  themselves  that 
young  Parson  Dene  was  too  tender-hearted  a  man  to 
come  into  court  at  a  criminal  trial.  He  would  break 
his  heart  to  see  even  a  dog  hanged,  let  alone  his  fel- 
low-Christians. As  for  Joe  Harley,  it  was  universally 
admitted  that  he  had  had  a  narrow  squeak  of  it,  and 
that  he  had  got  off  better  than  he  deserved.  The  jury 
gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

As  soon  as  all  the  persons  concerned  had  returned 
to  Churnside,  Walter  sent  at  once  for  Joe  Harley. 
The  poacher  came  to  see  him  in  the  vicarage  library. 
He  was  elated  and  coarsely  exultant  with  his  victory, 
as  a  relief  from  the  strain  he  had  suffered,  after  the 
manner  of  all  vulgar  natures. 

"  Joe,"  said  the  clergyman  slowly,  motioning  him 
into  a  chair  at  the  other  side  of  the  desk,  "  I  know 
that  after  this  trial  Churnside  will  not  be  a  pleasant 
place  to  hold  you.  All  your  neighbors  believe,  in 
spite  of  the  verdict,  that  you  killed  the  vicar.  I  feel 
sure,  however,  that  you  did  not  commit  this  murder. 
Therefore,  as  some  compensation  for  the  suffering  of 
mind  to  which  you  have  been  put,  I  think  it  well  to 
send  you  and  your  wife  and  family  to  Australia  or 
Canada,  whichever  you  like  best.     I  propose  also  to 


T/O  STRANGE   STORIKS. 

made  you  a  present  of  a  hundred  pounds,  to  set  you 
up  in  your  new  home." 

"  Make  it  five  hundred,  passon,"  Joe  said,  looking  at 
him  significantly. 

Walter  smiled  quietly,  and  did  not  flinch  in  any 
■way.  "  I  said  a  hundred,"  he  continued  calmly,  **  and 
I  will  make  it  only  a  hundred.  I  should  have  had  no 
objection  to  making  it  five,  except  for  the  manner  in 
which  you  ask  it.  But  you  evidently  mistake  the 
motive  of  my  gift.  I  give  it  out  of  pure  compassion 
for  you,  and  not  out  of  any  other  feeling  whatsoever." 

**  Very  well,  passon,"   said  Joe  sullenly,  "I  accept  it." 

**  You  mistake  again,"  Walter  went  on  blandly,  for 
he  was  himself  again  now.  '*  You  are  not  to  accept  it 
as  terms  ;  you  are  to  thank  me  for  it  as  a  pure  pres- 
ent. I  see  we  two  partially  understand  each  other  ; 
but  it  is  important  you  should  understand  me  exactly 
as  I  mean  it.  Joe  Harley,  listen  to  me  seriously.  I 
have  saved  your  life.  If  I  had  been  a  man  of  a  coarse 
and  vulgar  nature,  if  I  had  been  like  you  in  a  similar 
predicament,  I  would  have  pressed  the  case  against 
you  for  obvious  personal  reasons,  and  you  would  have 
been  hanged  for  it.  But  I  did  not  press  it,  because  I 
felt  convinced  of  yo'^r  innocence,  and  my  sense  of 
justice  rose  irresistibly  against  it.  I  did  the  best  I 
could  to  save  you  ;  I  risked  my  own  reputation  to 
save  you  ;  and  I  have  no  hesitation  now  in  telling  you 
that  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  if  the  verdict  had  gone 
against  you,  the  person  who  really  killed  the  vicar, 
accidentally  or  intentionally,  meant  to  have  given  him- 
self up  to  the  police,  rather  than  let  an  innocent  man 
suffer." 

"  Passon,"  said  Joe  Harley,  looking  at  him  intently, 


THE  CURATE  OF  CIIURNSIDE.  I/I 

**  I  believe  as  you're  tellin'  me  the  truth.  I  zeen  as 
much  in  that  person's  face  afore  the  verdict." 

There  was  a  solemn  pause  for  a  moment ;  and  then 
Walter  Dene  said  slowly: 

"  Now  that  you  have  withdrawn  your  claim  as  a 
claim,  I  will  stretch  a  point  and  make  it  five  hundred. 
It  is  little  enough  for  what  you  have  suffered.  But  I, 
too,  have  suffered  terribly,  terribly." 

"Thank  you,  passon,"  Joe  answered.  **  I  zeen  as 
you  were  turble  anxious." 

There  was  again  a  moment's  pause.  Then  Walter 
Dene  asked  quietly  : 

"  How  did  the  vicar's  face  come  to  be  so  bruised 
and  battered.''" 

"I  stumbled  up  agin  'im  accidental  like,  and  didn't 
know  I'd  kicked  'un  till  I'd  done  it.  Must  'a  been  just 
a  few  minutes  after  you'd  'a  left  'un." 

"  Joe,"  said  the  curate,  in  his  calmest  tone,  "you  had 
better  go ;  the  money  will  be  sent  to  you  shortly. 
But  if  you  ever  see  my  face  again,  or  speak  or  write  a 
word  of  this  to  me,  you  shall  not  have  a  penny  of  it, 
but  shall  be  prosecuted  for  intimidation.  A  hundred 
before   you  leave,  four   hundred  in  Australia.     Now 

go." 

"  Very  well,  passon,"  Joe  answered  ;  and  he  went. 

"  Pah  !"  said  the  curate,  with  a  face  of  disgust,  shut- 
ting the  door  after  him,  and  lighting  a  perfumed  pas- 
tile  in  his  little  Chinese  porcelain  incense-burner,  as  if 
to  fumigate  the  room  from  the  poacher's  offensive 
presence.  "  Pah  !  to  think  that  these  affairs  should  com- 
pel one  to  humiliate  and  abase  one's  self  before  a  vul- 
gar clod  like  that  !  To  think  that  all  his  life  long  that 
fellow  will  virtually  know — and  misinterpret — my  se- 


172  STRANGE  STORIES. 

cret.  He  is  incapable  of  understanding  that  I  did  it  as 
a  duty  to  Christina.  Well,  he  will  never  dare  to  tell  it, 
that's  certain,  for  nobody  would  believe  him  if  he  did  ; 
and  he  may  congratulate  himself  heartily  that  he's  got 
well  out  of  this  difficulty.  It  will  be  the  luckiest 
thing  in  the  end  that  ever  happened  to  him.  And  now 
I  hope  this  little  episode  is  finally  over." 

When  the  Churnside  public  learned  that  Walter 
Dene  meant  to  carry  his  belief  in  Joe  Harley's  inno- 
cence so  far  as  to  send  him  and  his  family  at  his  own 
expense  out  to  Australia,  they  held  that  the  young 
parson's  charity  and  guilelessness  was  really,  as  the 
doctor  said,  almost  Quixotic.  And  when,  in  his  anx- 
iety to  detect  and  punish  the  real  murderer,  he  offered 
a  reward  of  five  hundred  pounds  from  his  own  pocket 
for  any  information  leading  to  the  arrest  and  convic- 
tion of  the  criminal,  the  Churnside  people  laughed 
quietly  at  his  extraordinary  childlike  simplicity  of 
heart.  The  real  murderer  had  been  caught  and  tried 
at  Dorchester  Assizes,  they  said,  and  had  only  got  off 
by  the  skin  of  his  teeth  because  Walter  himself  had 
come  forward  and  sworn  to  a  quite  improbable  and 
inconclusive  alibi.  There  was  plenty  of  time  for  Joe 
to  have  got  to  the  gate  by  the  short  cut,  and  that  he 
did  so  everybody  at  Churnside  felt  morally  certain. 
Indeed,  a  few  years  later  a  blood-stained  bowie-knife 
was  found  in  the  hedge  not  far  from  the  scene  of  the 
murder,  and  the  gamekeeper  *'  could  almost  'a  took  his 
Bible  oath  he'd  zeen  just  such  a  knife  along  o'  Joe 
Harley." 

That  was  not  the  end  of  Walter  Dene's  Quixotisms, 
however.  When  the  will  was  read,  it  turned  out  that 
almost  everything  was  left  to  the  young  parson  ;  and 


THE  CURATE  OF  CHURNSIDE.  173 

who  could  deserve  it  better  or  spend  it  more  chari- 
tably? But  Walter,  though  he  would  not  for  the  world 
seem  to  cast  any  slight  or  disrespect  upon  his  dear 
uncle's  memory,  did  not  approve  of  customs  of  primo- 
geniture, and  felt  bound  to  share  the  estate  equally 
with  his  brother  Arthur. 

"  Strange,"  said  the  head  of  the  firm  of  Watson  and 
Blenkiron  to  himself,  when  he  read  the  little  paragraph 
about  this  generous  conduct  in  the  paper  ;  ''  I  thought 
the  instructions  were  to  leave  it  to  his  nephew  Arthur, 
not  to  his  nephew  Walter ;  but  there,  one  forgets  and 
confuses  names  of  people  that  one  does  not  know  so 
easily." 

"  Gracious  goodness!"  thought  the  engrossing  clerk; 
"  surely  it  was  the  other  way  on.  I  wonder  if  I  can 
have  gone  and  copied  the  wrong  names  in  the  wrong 
places  ?" 

But  in  a  big  London  business,  nobody  notes  these 
things  as  they  would  have  been  noted  in  Churnside  ; 
the  vicar  was  always  a  changeable,  pernickety,  huffy 
old  fellow,  and  very  likely  he  had  had  a  reverse  will 
drawn  up  afterwards  by  his  country  lawyer.  All  the 
world  only  thought  that  Walter  Dene's  generosity 
was  really  almost  ridiculous,  even  in  a  parson.  When 
he  was  married  to  Christina,  six  months  afterwards, 
everybody  said  so  charming  a  girl  was  well  mated  with 
so  excellent  and  admirable  a  husband. 

And  he  really  did  make  a  very  tender  and  loving 
husband  an  )  father.  Christina  believed  in  him  always, 
for  he  did  his  best  to  foster  and  keep  alive  her  faith. 
He  would  have  given  up  active  clerical  duty  if  he 
could,  never  having  liked  it  (for  he  was  above  hypoc- 
risy), but  Christina  was  against  the  project,  and  his 


1/4  STRANGE  STORIES. 

bishop  would  not  hear  of  it.  The  Church  could  ill 
afford  to  lose  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Dene,  the  bishop  said, 
in  these  troubled  times  ;  and  he  begged  him  as  a  per- 
sonal favor  to  accept  the  living  of  Churnside,  which 
was  in  his  gift.  But  Walter  did  not  like  the  place,  and 
asked  for  another  living  instead,  which,  being  of  less 
value — "  so  like  Mr.  Dene  to  think  nothing  of  the  tem- 
poralities,"— the  bishop  even  more  graciously  granted. 
He  has  since  published  a  small  volume  of  dainty- 
little  poems  on  uncut  paper,  considered  by  some  critics 
as  rather  pagan  in  tone  for  a  clergyman,  but  uni- 
versally allowed  to  be  extremely  graceful,  the  perfec- 
tion of  poetical  form  with  much  delicate  mastery  of 
poetical  matter.  And  everybody  knows  that  the  author 
is  almost  certain  to  be  offered  the  first  vacant  canonry 
in  his  own  cathedral.  As  for  the  little  episode,  he 
himself  has  almost  forgotten  all  about  it  ;  for  those 
who  think  a  murderer  must  feel  remorse  his  whole  life 
long,  are  trying  to  read  their  own  emotional  nature 
into  the  wholly  dispassionate  character  of  Walter 
Dene. 


AN  EPISODE  IN  HIGH  LIFE. 


Sir  Henry  Vardon,  K.C.B.,  electrician  to  the 
Admiralty,  whose  title,  as  everybody  knows,  was 
gazetted  some  six  weeks  since,  is  at  this  moment  the 
youngest  living  member  of  the  British  knighthood.  He 
is  now  only  just  thirty,  and  he  has  obtained  his  present 
high  distinction  by  those  remarkable  inventions  of  his 
in  the  matter  of  electrical  signalling  and  lighthouse 
arrangements  which  have  been  so  much  talked  about 
in  Nature  this  year,  and  which  gained  him  the  gold 
medal  of  the  Royal  Society  in  1881.  Lady  Vardon  is 
one  of  the  youngest  and  prettiest  hostesses  in  London, 
and  if  you  would  care  to  hear  the  history  of  their 
courtship,  here  it  is : 

When  Harry  Vardon  left  Oxford,  only  seven  years 
age,  none  of  his  friends  could  imagine  what  he  meant 
by  throwing  up  all  his  chances  of  University  success. 
The  son  of  a  poor  country  parson  in  Devonshire,  who 
had  strained  his  little  income  to  the  uttermost  to  send 
him  to  college,  Vardon  of  Magdalen  had  done  credit 
to  his  father  and  himself  in  all  the  schools.  He  gained 
the  best  demyship  of  his  year  ;  got  a  first  in  classical 
mods.;  and  then,  unaccountably,  took  to  reading 
science,  in  which  he  carried  everything  before  him. 
At  the  end  of  his  four  years,  he  walked   into  a  scien- 

[175] 


176  STRANGE  STORIES. 

tific  fellowship  at  Balliol  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  and 
then,  after  twelve  months*  residence,  he  suddenly  sur- 
prised the  world  of  Oxford  by  accepting  a  tutorship 
to  the  young  Earl  of  Surrey,  at  that  time,  as  you 
doubtless  remember,  a  minor,  aged  about  sixteen. 

But  Harry  Vardon  had  good  reasons  of  his  own  for 
taking  this  tutorship.  Six  months  after  he  became  a 
fellow  of  Balliol,  the  old  vicar  had  died  unexpectedly, 
leaving  his  only  other  child,  Edith,  alone  and  unpro- 
vided for,  as  was  indeed  natural ;  for  the  expenses  of 
Harry's  college  life  had  quite  eaten  up  the  meagre 
savings  of  twenty  years  at  Little  Hinton.  In  order  to 
provide  a  home  for  Edith,  it  was  necessary  that  Harry 
should  find  something  or  other  to  do  which  would 
bring  in  an  immediate  income.  School-mastering,  that 
refuge  of  the  destitute  graduate,  was  not  much  to  his 
mind  ;  and  so  when  the  senior  tutor  of  Boniface  wrote 
a  little  note  to  ask  whether  he  would  care  to  accept 
the  charge  of  a  cub  nobleman,  as  he  disrespectfully 
phrased  it,  Harry  jumped  at  the  offer,  and  took  the 
proposed  salary  of  ^400  a  year  with  the  greatest 
alacrity.  That  would  far  more  than  suffice  for  all 
Edith's  simple  needs,  and  he  himself  could  live  upon 
the  proceeds  of  his  fellowship,  besides  finding  time  to 
continue  his  electrical  researches.  For  I  will  not  dis- 
guise the  fact  that  Harry  only  accepted  the  cub  noble- 
man as  a  stop-gap,  and  that  he  meant  even  then  to 
make  his  fortune  in  the  end  by  those  splendid  electri- 
cal discoveries  which  will  undoubtedly  immortalize  his 
name  in  future  ages. 

It  was  summer  term  when  the  appointment  was 
made  ;  and  the  Surrey  people  (who  were  poor  for 
their  station)  had  just  gone  down  to  Colyford  Abbey, 


AN  EPISODE  IN  HIGH  LIFE.  1 77 

the  family  scat,  in  the  valley  of  the  Axe  near  Seaton. 
You  have  visited  the  house,  I  dare  say — open  to  visi- 
tors every  Tuesday,  when  the  family  is  absent — a  fine, 
somewhat  modernized  mansion,  with  some  good  per- 
pendicular work  about  it  still,  in  spite  of  the  havoc 
wrought  in  it  by  Inigo  Jones,  who  converted  the 
chapel  and  refectory  of  the  old  Cistercians  into  a  ban- 
quetting-hall  and  ballroom  for  the  first  Lord  Surrey 
of  the  present  creation.  It  was  lovely  weather  when 
Harry  Vardon  went  down  there  ;  and  the  Abbey,  and 
the  terrace,  and  the  park,  and  the  beautiful  valley  be- 
yond were  looking  their  very  best.  Harry  fell  in  love 
with  the  view  at  once,  and  almost  fell  in  love  with  the 
inmates  too  at  the  first  glance. 

Lady  Surrey,  the  mother,  was  sitting  on  a  garden 
seat  in  front  of  the  house  as  the  carriage  which  met 
him  at  Colyford  station  drove  up  to  the  door.  She 
was  much  younger  and  more  beautiful  than  Harry  had 
at  all  expected.  He  had  pictured  the  dowager  to 
himself  as  a  stately  old  lady  of  sixty,  with  white  hair 
and  a  grand  manner;  instead  of  which  he  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  a  well-preserved  beauty  of  some- 
thing less  than  forty,  not  above  medium  height,  and 
still  strikingly  pretty  in  a  round-faced,  mature,  but 
very  delicate  fashion.  She  had  wavy  chestnut  hair, 
regular  features,  an  exquisite  set  of  pearly  teeth,  full 
cheeks  whose  natural  roses  were  perhaps  just  a  trifle 
increased  by  not  wholly  ungraceful  art,  and  above  all 
a  lovely  complexion  quite  unspoilt  as  yet  by  years. 
She  was  dressed  as  such  a  person  should  be  dressed, 
with  no  affectation  of  girlishness,  but  in  the  style  that 
best  shows  off  ripe  beauty  and  a  womanly  figure. 
Harry  was  always  an  impressionable  fellow ;   and   I 


178  STRANGE   STORIES. 

really  believe  that  if  Lady  Surrey  had  been  alone  he 
would  have  fallen  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her 
at  first  sight. 

But  there  was  something  which  kept  him  from  fall- 
ing in  love  at  once  with  Lady  Surrey,  and  that  was  the 
girl  who  sat  half  reclining  on  a  tiger-skin  at  her  feet, 
with  a  little  sketching  tablet  on  her  lap.  He  could 
hardly  take  full  stock  of  the  mother  because  he  was  so 
busy  looking  at  the  daughter  as  well.  I  shall  not  at- 
tempt to  describe  Lady  Gladys  Durant  ;  all  pretty 
girls  fall  under  one  of  some  half-dozen  heads,  and  de- 
scription at  best  can  really  do  no  more  than  classify 
them.  Lady  Gladys  belonged  to  the  tall  and  graceful 
aristocratic  class,  and  she  was  a  good  specimen  of  the 
type  at  seventeen.  Not  that  Harry  Vardon  fell  in 
love  with  her  at  once  ;  he  was  really  in  the  pleasing 
condition  of  Captain  Macheath,  too  much  engaged  in 
looking  at  two  pretty  women  to  be  capable  even  men- 
tally of  making  a  choice  between  them.  Mother  and 
daughter  were  both  almost  equally  beautiful,  each  in 
her  own  distinct  style. 

The  countess  half  rose  to  greet  him — it  is  conde- 
scension on  the  part  of  a  countess  to  notice  the  tutor 
at  all,  I  believe  ;  but  though  I  am  no  lover  of  lords 
myself,  I  will  do  the  Durants  the  justice  to  say  that 
their  treatment  of  Harry  was  always  the  very  kindliest 
that  could  possibly  be  expected  from  people  of  their 
ideas  and  traditions. 

"  Mr.  Vardon  ?"  she  said  interrogatively,  as  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  the  new  tutor.  Harry  bowed  assent. 
"  I'm  glad  you  have  such  a  lovely  day  to  make  your 
first  acquaintance  with  Colyford.     It's  a  pretty  place, 


AN  EMSODE  IN  HIGH  LIFE.  i;9 

isn't  it?  Gladys,  this  is  Mr.  Vardon,  who  is  kindly 
going  to  take  charge  of  Surrey  for  us." 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  know  what  you're  going  to 
undertake,"  said  Gladys,  smiling  and  holding  out  her 
hand.  "  He's  a  dreadful  pickle.  Do  you  know  this 
part  of  the  world  before,  Mr.  Vardon  ?" 

"Not  just  hereabouts,"  Harry  answered;  "my 
father's  parish  was  in  North  Devon,  but  1  know  the 
greater  part  of  the  country  very  well." 

"  That's  a  good  thing,"  said  Gladys  quickly  ;  "we're 
all  Devonshire  people  here,  and  we  believe  in  the 
county  with  all  our  hearts.  I  wish  Surrey  took  his 
title  from  it.  It's  so  absurd  to  take  your  title  from  a 
place  you  don't  care  about  only  because  you've  got 
land  there.     I  love  Devonshire  people  best  of  any." 

"  Mr.  Vardon  would  probably  like  to  see  his 
rooms,"  said  the  countess.  "  Parker,  will  you  show 
him  up  ?" 

The  rooms  were  everything  that  Harry  could  wish. 
There  was  a  prettily  furnished  sitting-room  for  him- 
self on  the  front,  looking  across  the  terrace,  with  a 
view  of  the  valley  and  the  sea  in  the  distance  ;  there 
was  a  study  next  door,  for  tutor  and  pupil  to  work  in  ; 
there  was  a  cheerful  little  bedroom  behind,  and  down- 
stairs at  the  back  there  was  a  large  bare  room,  for 
which  Harry  had  specially  stipulated,  wherein  to  put 
his  electrical  apparatus,  for  he  meant  to  experiment 
and  work  busily  at  his  own  subject  in  his  spare  time. 
There  was  a  special  servant,  too,  told  off  to  wait 
upon  him  ;  and  altogether  Harry  felt  that  if  only 
the  social  position  could  be  made  endurable,  he 
could  live  very  comfortably  for  a  year  or  two  at 
Colyford  Abbey. 


l8o  STRANGE  STORIES. 

There  are  some  men  who  could  never  stand  such 
a  life  at  all.  There  are  others  who  can  stand  it  be- 
cause they  can  stand  anything.  But  Harry  Vardon 
belonged  to  neither  class.  He  was  one  of  those  who 
feel  at  home  in  most  places,  and  who  can  get  on  in  all 
society  alike.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  one  of  the 
handsomest  fellows  you  ever  saw,  with  large  dark  eyes, 
and  that  particular  black  mustache  that  no  woman  can 
ever  resist.  Then  again  he  was  tall  and  had  a  good 
presence,  which  impressed  even  those  most  dangerous 
of  critics  for  a  private  tutor,  the  footmen.  Moreover, 
he  was  clever,  chatty,  and  agreeable  ;  ancf  it  never 
entered  into  his  head  that  he  was  not  conferring  some 
distinction  upon  the  Surrey  family  by  consenting  to  be 
teacher  to  their  young  lordling — which,  indeed,  was 
after  all  the  sober  fact. 

The  train  was  in  a  little  before  seven,  and  there  was 
a  bit  of  a  drive  from  the  station,  so  that  Harry  had 
only  just  had  time  to  dress  for  dinner  when  the  gong 
sounded.  In  the  drawing-room  he  met  his  future 
pupil,  a  good-looking,  high-spirited,  but  evidently  lazy 
boy  of  sixteen.  The  family  was  alone,  so  the  earl  took 
down  his  mother,  while  Harry  gave  his  arm  to  Lady 
Gladys.  Before  dinner  was  over,  the  new  tutor  had 
taken  the  measure  of  the  trio  pretty  accurately.  The 
countess  was  clever,  that  was  certain  ;  she  took  an 
interest  in  books  and  in  art,  and  she  could  talk  lightly 
but  well  upon  most  current  topics  in  the  easy  spark- 
ling style  of  a  woman  of  the  world.  Gladys  was  clever 
too,  though  not  booky ;  she  was  full  of  sketching  and 
music,  and  was  delighted  to  hear  that  Harry  could 
paint  a  little  in  water-colors,  besides  being  the  owner  of 
a  good  violin.   As  to  the  boy,  his  fancy  clearly  ran  for 


AN   EPISODE   IN   HIGH   LIFE.  l8l 

the  most  part  to  dogs,  guns  and  cricket ;  and  indeed, 
though  he  was  no  doubt  a  very  important  person  as  a 
future  member  of  the  British  legislature,  I  think  for 
the  purposes  of  the  present  story,  which  is  mainly  con- 
cerned with  Harry  Vardon's  fortunes,  we  may  safely 
leave  him  out  of  consideration.  Harry  taught  him 
as  much  as  he  could  be  induced  to  learn  for  an  hour 
or  two  every  morning,  and  looked  after  him  as  far 
as  possible  when  he  was  anywhere  within  hearing 
throughout  the  rest  of  the  day ;  but  as  the  lad  was 
alr^i'jst  always  out  around  the  place  somewhere  with 
a  gamekeeper  or  a  stable-boy,  he  hardly  entered 
practically  into  the  current  of  Harry's  life  at  all, 
outside  the  regular  hours  of  study.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  never  learnt  much  from  anybody  or  did  any- 
thing worth  speaking  of  ;  but  he  has  since  married  a 
Birmingham  heiress  with  a  million  or  so  of  her  own, 
and  is  now  one  of  the  most  rising  young  members  of 
the  House  of  Lords. 

After  dinner,  the  countess  showed  Harry  her  excel- 
lent collection  of  Bartolozzis,  and  Harry,  who  knew 
something  about  them,  showed  the  countess  that  she 
was  wrong  as  to  the  authenticity  of  one  or  two  among 
them.  Then  Gladys  played  passably  well,  and  he  sang 
a  duet  with  her  in  a  way  that  made  her  feel  a  little 
ashamed  of  her  own  singing.  And  lastly  Harry 
brought  down  his  violin,  at  which  the  countess  smiled  a 
little,  for  she  thought  it  audacious  on  the  first  evening; 
but  when  he  played  one  of  his  best  pieces,  she  smiled 
again,  for  she  had  a  good  ear  and  a  great  deal  of  taste. 
After  which  they  all  retired  to  bed,  and  Gladys 
remarked  to  her  maid  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room, 


1 82  STRANGE   STORIES. 

that  the  new  tutor  was  a  very  pleasant  man,  and  quite 
a  relief  af^      such  a  stick  as  Mr.  Wilkinson. 

At  breakfast  next  morning  the  party  remained  un- 
changed, but  at  lunch  the  two  younger  girls  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  with  their  governess.  Miss  Martindale. 
Though  very  different  in  type  from  Gladys,  Ethel 
Martindale  was  in  her  way  an  equally  pretty  girl.  She 
was  small  and  mignomiCy  with  delicate  little  hands,  and 
a  light,  pretty  figure,  not  too  slight,  but  very  grace- 
fully proportioned.  Her  cheeks  and  chin  were  charm- 
ingly dimpled,  and  her  complexion  was  just  of  that 
faintly-dark  tinge  that  one  sees  so  often  combined  with 
light-brown  hair  and  eyes  in  the  moorland  parts  of 
Lancashire.  Altogether  she  was  a  perfect  foil  to 
Gladys,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  almost  any 
man,  as  he  sat  at  that  table,  to  say  whicli  of  the  three, 
mother,  daughter,  or  governess,  was  really  the  pret- 
tiest. For  my  own  part,  I  give  my  vote  unreservedly 
for  the  countess,  but  then  I  am  getting  somewhat 
grizzled  now,  and  have  long  been  bald  ;  so  my  liking 
turns  naturally  towards  ripe  beauty.  I  hate  your  self- 
conscious  chits  of  seventeen,  who  can  only  chat  and 
giggle  ;  I  like  a  woman  who  has  something  to  say  for 
nerself.  But  Harry  was  just  turned  twenty-three,  and 
perhaps  his  choice  might,  not  unnaturally,  have  gone 
otherwise. 

The  governess  talked  little  at  lunch,  and  seemed 
altogether  a  rather  subdued  and  timid  girl.  Harry 
noticed  with  pain  that  she  appeared  half  afraid  of 
speaking  to  anybody,  and  also  that  the  footmen  made 
a  marked  distinction  between  their  manner  to  him  and 
their  manner  to  her.  He  would  have  liked  once  or 
twice  to  kick  the  fellows  for  their  insolence.      After 


AN   EPISODE   IN   HIGH    LIFE.  183 

lunch,  Gladys  and  the  little  ones  went  for  a  stroll  down 
towards  the  river,  and  Harry  followed  after  with  Miss 
Martindale. 

"  Do  you  come  from  this  part  of  England  ?"  he 
asked. 

**  No,"  answered  Ethel,  **I  come  from  Lancashire. 
My  father  was  rector  of  a  small  parish  on  the  moors." 

Harry's  heart  smote  him.  It  might  have  been 
Edith.  What  a  little  turn  of  chance  had  made  all  the 
difference  !  "  My  father  was  a  parson,  too,"  he  said, 
and  then  checked  himself  for  the  half-disrespectful 
word,  "  but  he  lived  down  here  in  Devonshire.  Do 
you  like  Colyford  ?" 

*'  Oh,  yes, — the  place  very  much.  There  are  delight- 
ful rambles,  and  Lady  Gladys  and  I  go  out  sketch- 
ing a  great  deal.  And  it's  a  delightful  country  for 
flowers." 

The  place,  but  not  the  life,  thought  Harry.  Poor 
child,  it  must  be  very  hard  Tor  her. 

"  Mr.  Vardon,  come  on  here,  I  want  you,"  called 
out  Gladys  from  the  little  stone  bridge.  "  You  know 
everything.  Can  you  tell  me  what  this  flower  is  ?" 
and  she  held  out  a  long  spray  of  waving  green  stuff. 

*'  Caper  spurge,"  said  Harry,  looking  at  it  carelessly. 

**  Oh,  no,"  Miss  Martindale  put  in  quickly,  "  Port- 
land spurge,  surely." 

"  So  it  is,  '  Harry  answered,  looking  closer.  "  Then 
you  are  a  bit  of  a  botanist.  Miss  Martindale?" 

'*  Not  a  botanist,  but  very  fond  of  the  flowers." 

*'  Miss  Martindale's  always  picking  lots  of  ugly 
things  and  bringing  them  home,"  said  Gladys  laugh- 
ingly ;  "aren't  you,  dear?" 

Ethel  smiled  and  nodded.  So  they  went  on  past  the 


1 84  STRANGE  STORIES. 

bridge  and  out  upon  the  opposite  side,  and  back  again 
by  the  little  white  railings  into  the  park. 

For  the  next  three  months  Harry  enjoyed  himself 
in  a  busy  way  immensely.  Every  morning  he  had  his 
three  hours*  teaching,  and  every  afternoon  he  went  a 
walk,  or  fished  in  the  river,  or  worked  at  his  electrical 
machines.  To  the  household  at  the  Abbey  such  a 
man  was  a  perfect  godsend.  For  he  was  a  versatile 
fellow,  able  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything,  and  the 
Durants  lived  in  a  very  quiet  way,  and  were  glad  of 
somebody  to  keep  the  house  lively.  The  money  was 
all  tied  up  till  the  boy  came  of  age,  and  even  then 
there  wouldn't  be  much  of  it.  Surrey  had  been  sent 
to  Eton  for  a  month  or  two  and  then  removed,  by 
request,  to  prevent  more  violent  measures ;  after  which 
he  was  sent  to  two  or  three  other  schools,  always  with 
the  same  result.  So  he  was  brought  home  again  and 
handed  over  to  the  domestic  persuasion  of  a  private 
tutor.  The  only  thing  that  kept  him  moderately  quiet 
was  the  possibility  of  running  around  the  place  with 
the  keepers  ;  and  the  only  person  who  ever  taught  him 
anything  was  Harry  Vardon,  though  even  he,  I  must 
admit,  did  not  succeed  in  impressing  any  very  valuable 
lessons  upon  the  lad's  volatile  brain.  The  countess 
saw  few  visitors,  and  so  a  man  like  Harry  was  a  real 
acquisition  to  the  little  circle.  He  was  perpetually 
being  wanted  by  everybody,  everywhere,  and  at  the 
end  of  three  months  he  was  simply  indispensable. 

Lady  Surrey  was  always  consulting  him  as  to  the 
proper  place  to  plant  the  new  wellingtonias,  the  right 
asp^,ct  for  deodars,  the  best  plan  for  mounting  water- 
colors,  and  the  correct  date  of  all  the  neighboring 
churches.      It  was  so  delightful  to  drive  about  with 


AN  EPISODE  IN  HIGH   LIFE.  1 8$ 

somebody  who  really  understood  the  history  and 
geology  and  antiquities  of  the  county,  she  said  ;  and 
she  began  to  develop  an  extraordinary  interest  in 
prehistoric  archaeology,  and  to  listen  patiently  to  Har- 
ry's disquisitions  on  the  difference  between  long  bar- 
rows and  round  barrows,  or  on  the  true  nature  of  the 
earthworks  that  cap  the  top  of  Membury  Hill.  Harry 
for  his  part  was  quite  ready  to  discourse  volubly  on 
all  these  subjects,  for  it  was  his  hobby  to  impart 
information,  whereof  he  had  plenty  ;  and  he  liked 
knocking  about  the  country,  examining  castles  or 
churches,  and  laying  down  the  law  about  matters 
architectural  with  much  authority  to  two  pretty 
women.  The  countess  even  took  an  interest  in  his 
great  electrical  investigation,  and  came  into  his  work- 
shop to  hear  all  about  the  uses  of  his  mysterious  bat- 
teries. As  for  Lady  Gladys,  she  was  for  ever  wanting 
Mr.  Vardon's  opinion  about  the  exact  color  for  that 
shadow  by  the  cottage,  Mr.  Vardon's  aid  in  practising 
that  difficult  bit  of  Chopin,  Mr.  Vardon's  counsel  about 
the  decorative  treatment  of  the  passion-flower  on  that 
lovely  piece  of  crewel-work.  Indeed,  contrary  to  Miss 
Martindale's  express  admonition,  and  all  the  dictates 
of  propriety,  she  was  always  running  off  to  Harry's 
little  sitting-room  to  ask  his  advice  about  five  hundred 
different  things,  five  hundred  times  in  every  twenty- 
four  hours. 

There  was  only  one  person  in  the  household  who 
seemed  at  all  shy  of  Harry,  and  that  was  Miss  Martin- 
dale.  Do  what  he  could,  he  could  never  get  her  to 
feel  at  home  with  him.  She  seemed  always  anxious  to 
keep  out  of  his  way,  and  never  ready  to  join  in  any  of 
his  plans.    This  was  annoying,  because  Harry  really 


1 86  STRANGE  STORIES.         • 

liked  the  poor  girl  and  felt  sorry  for  her  lonely  posi- 
tion. But  as  she  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him, 
why,  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  ;  so  he  con- 
tented himself  with  being  as  polite  to  her  as  possible, 
while  respecting  her  evident  wish  to  be  let  alone. 

One  afternoon,  when  the  four  had  been  out  for  a 
drive  together  to  visit  the  old  ruins  near  Cowhayne, 
and  Harry  had  been  sketching  with  Gladys  and  lectur- 
ing to  the  countess  to  his  heart's  content,  he  was  sit- 
ting on  the  bench  by  the  red  cedars,  when  to  his  sur- 
prise he  saw  the  governess  strolling  carelessly  across 
the  terrace  towards  him.  "  Mr.  Vardon,"  she  said, 
standing  beside  the  bench,  "  I  want  to  say  something 
to  you.  You  mustn't  mind  my  saying  it,  but  I  feel  it 
is  part  of  my  duty.  Do  you  think  you  ought  to  pay  so 
much  attention  to  Gladys  ?  You  and  I  come  into  a 
famil)  of  this  sort  on  peculiar  terms,  you  know.  They 
don't  think  we  are  quite  the  same  sort  of  human  beings 
as  themselves.  Now,  I'm  half  afraid — I  don't  like  to 
say  so,  but  I  think  it  better  I  should  say  it  than  my 
lady — I'm  half  afraid  that  Gladys  is  getting  her  head 
too  much  filled  with  you.  Whatever  she  does,  you  are 
always  helping  her.  She  is  for  ever  running  off  to  see 
you  about  something  or  other.  She  is  very  young  ; 
she  meets  very  few  other  men ;  and  you  have  been  ex- 
tremely attentive  to  her.  But  when  people  like  these 
admit  you  into  their  family,  they  do  so  on  the  tacit 
understanding  that  you  will  not  do  what  they  would 
call  abusing  the  position.  To-day,  1  half  fancied  that 
my  lady  looked  at  you  once  or  twice  when  you  were 
talking  to  Gladys,  and  I  thought  I  would  try  to  be 
brave  enough  to  speak  to  you  about  it.  If  /don't,  I 
think  she  wiU," 


AN   KPISODE   IN   HIGH   LIFE.  1 8/ 

**  Really,  Miss  Martindale,"  said  Harry,  rising  and 
walking  by  her  side  toward  the  laburnum  alley,  "  I'm 
very  glad  you  have  unburdened  your  mind  about  this 
matter.  For  myself,  you  know,  I  don't  acknowledge 
the  obligation.  I  should  marry  any  girl  I  liked,  if  she 
would  have  me,  whatever  her  artificial  position  might 
be  ;  and  I  should  never  let  any  barriers  of  that  sort 
stand  in  my  way.  But  I  don't  know  that  I  have  the 
slightest  intention  of  ever  trying  to  marry  Lady  Gladys 
or  anybody  else  of  the  sort ;  so  while  I  remain  unde- 
cided on  that  point,  I  shall  do  as  you  wish  me.  By 
the  way,  it  strikes  me  now  that  you  have  been  trying 
to  keep  her  away  from  me  as  much  as  possible." 

"  As  part  of  my  duty,  I  think  I  ought  to  do  so. 
Yes." 

"  Well,  you  may  rely  upon  it,  I  will  give  you  no  more 
cause  for  anxiety,"  said  Harry;  "so  the  less  we  say 
about  it  the  better.  What  a  lovely  sunset,  and  what 
a  glorious  color  on  the  cliffs  at  Axmouth  !"  And  he 
walked  down  the  alley  with  her  two  or  three  times, 
talking  about  various  indifferent  subjects.  Somehow 
he  had  never  managed  to  get  on  so  well  with  her  be- 
fore. She  was  a  very  nice  girl,  he  thought,  really  a 
very  nice  girl ;  what  a  pity  she  would  never  take  any 
notice  of  him  in  any  way!  However,  he  enjoyed  that 
quiet  half-hour  immensely,  and  was  quite  sorry  when 
Lady  Surrey  came  out  a  little  later  and  joined  them, 
exactly  as  if  she  wanted  to  interrupt  their  conversa- 
tion. But  what  a  beautiful  woman  Lady  Surrey  was 
too,  as  she  came  across  the  lawn  just  then  in  her  gar- 
den hat  and  the  pale  blue  Umritzur  shawl  thrown 
loosely  across  her  shapely  shoulders  1     By  Jove,  she 


1 88  STRANGE   STORIES. 

was  as  handsome  a  woman,  after  all,  as  he  had  ever 
seen. 

After  dinner  that  evening  Lady  Surrey  sent  Gladys 
oflF  to  Miss  Martindale's  room  on  some  small  pretext, 
and  then  put  Harry  down  on  the  sofa  beside  her  to 
help  in  arranging  those  interminable  ferns  of  hers. 
Evening  dress  suited  the  countess  best,  and  she  knew 
it.  She  was  looking  even  more  beautiful  than  before, 
with  her  hair  prettily  dressed,  and  the  little  simple 
turquoise  necklet  setting  off  her  white  neck  ;  and  she 
talked  a  great  deal  to  Harry,  and  was  really  very 
charming.  No  more  fascinating  widow,  he  thought,  to 
be  found  anywhere  within  a  hundred  miles.  At  last 
she  stopped,  leaning  over  the  ferns,  and  sat  back  a 
little  on  the  sofa,  half  fronting  him.  **  Mr.  Vardon," 
she  said  suddenly,  "  there  is  something  I  wish  to  speak 
to  you  about,  privately." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Harry,  half  expecting  the  topic. 

**  Do  you  know,  I  think  you  ought  not  to  pay  such 
marked  attention  to  Lady  Gladys.  Two  or  three  times 
I  have  fancied  I  noticed  it,  and  have  meant  to  mention 
it  to  you,  but  I  thought  it  might  be  unnecessary.  On 
many  accounts,  however,  I  think  it  is  best  not  to  let  it 
pass  any  longer.     The  difference  of  station " 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Harry,  "  I'm  sorry  to  differ  from 
you,  but  I  don't  acknowledge  differences  of  station." 

**  Well,"  said  the  countess,  in  a  conciliatory  tone, 
"  under  certain  circumstances  that  may  be  perfectly 
correct.  A  young  man  in  your  position  and  with  your 
talents  has.  of  course,  the  whole  world  before  him.  He 
can  make  himself  whatever  he  pleases.  I  don't  think, 
Mr.  Vardon,  I  have  ever  under-estimated  the  worth 
of  brains.    I  do  feel  that  knowledge  and  culture  are 


AN  EPISODE  IN  HIGH  LIFE.  189 

much  greater  things   after  all   than    mere   position. 
Now,  in  justice  to  me,  don't  you  think  I  do  ?" 

Harry  looked  at  her — she  was  really  a  very  beautiful 
woman — and  then  said,  "  Yes,  I  think  you  have  cer- 
tainly better  and  more  rational  tastes  than  most  other 
people  circumstanced  as  you  are." 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  do,"  the  countess  answered, 
heartily.  "  I  don't  care  for  a  life  of  perfect  frivolity 
and  fashion,  such  as  one  gets  in  London.  If  it  were 
not  for  Gladys's  sake  I  sometimes  think  I  would  give 
it  up  entirely.  Do  you  know,  I  often  wish  my  life  had 
been  cast  very  differently — cast  among  another  set  of 
people  from  the  people  I  have  always  mixed  among. 
Whenever  I  meet  clever  people — literary  people  and 
scholars — I  always  feel  so  sorry  I  haven't  moved  all 
my  life  in  their  world.  From  one  point  of  view,  I 
quite  recognize  what  you  said  just  now,  that  these 
artificial  distinctions  should  not  exist  between  people 
who  are  really  equals  in  intellect  and  culture." 

"  Naturally  not,"  said  Harry,  to  whom  this  proposi- 
tion sounded  like  a  famiHar  truism. 

"  But  in  Lady  Gladys's  case,  I  feel  I  ought  to  guard 
her  against  seeing  too  much  of  anybody  in  particular 
just  at  present.  She  is  only  seventeen,  and  she  is  of 
course  impressionable.  Now,  you  know  a  great  many 
mothers  would  not  have  spoken  to  you  as  I  do  ;  but  I 
like  you,  Mr.  Vardon,  and  I  feel  at  home  with  you. 
You  will  promise  me  not  to  pay  so  much  attention  to 
Gladys  in  future,  won't  you  ?" 

As  she  looked  at  him  full  in  the  face  with  her  beau- 
tiful eyes,  Harry  felt  he  could  just  then  have  promised 
her  anything,     **  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  will  promise." 

"  Thank   you,"  said   the  countess,  looking  at   him 


190  STRANGE  STORIES. 

again  ;  "  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you."  And  then 
for  a  moment  there  was  an  awkward  pause,  and  they 
both  looked  full  into  one  another's  eyes  without  say- 
ing a  word. 

In  a  minute  the  countess  began  again,  and  said  a 
good  many  things  about  what  a  dreadful  waste  of  life 
people  generally  made  ;  and  what  a  privilege  it  was  to 
know  clever  people  ;  and  what  a  reality  and  purpose 
there  was  in  their  lives.  A  great  deal  of  this  sort  she 
said,  and  in  a  low,  pleasant  voice.  And  then  there  was 
another  awkward  pause,  and  they  looked  at  one  an- 
other once  more. 

Harry  certainly  thought  the  countess  very  beautiful, 
and  he  liked  her  very  much.  She  was  really  kind- 
hearted  and  friendly ;  she  was  interested  in  the  sub- 
jects that  pleased  him  ;  and  she  was  after  all  a  pretty 
woman,  still  young  as  men  count  youth,  and  very 
agreeable — nay,  anxious  to  please.  And  then  she  had 
said  what  she  said  about  the  artificiality  of  class  dis- 
tinctions so  markedly  and  pointedly,  with  such  a  com- 
mentary from  her  eyes,  that  Harry  half  fancied — well, 
1  don't  quite  know  what  he  fancied.  As  he  sat  there 
beside  her  on  the  sofa,  with  the  ferns  before  him, 
looking  straight  into  her  eyes,  and  she  into  his,  it 
must  be  clear  to  all  my  readers  that  if  he  had  any 
special  proposition  to  make  to  her  on  any  abstract 
subject  of  human  speculation,  the  time  had  obviously 
arrived  to  make  it.  But  something  or  other  inscru- 
table kept  him  back. 

" Lady  Surrey ,"  he  said,  and   the  words  s.uck 

in  his  throat. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  softly. 

**  Shall shall  we  go  on  with  the  ferns  ?"      Lady 


AN  EPISODE  m  HIGH    LIFE.  I9I 

Surrey  gave  a  little  short  breath,  brought  back  her 
eyes  from  dreamland,  and  turned  with  a  sudden  smile 
back  to  the  portfolio.  For  the  rest  of  the  evening,  the 
candid  historian  must  admit  that  they  both  felt  like  a 
pair  of  fools.  Conversation  lagged,  and  I  don't  think 
either  of  them  was  sorry  when  the  time  came  for  re- 
tiring. 

It  is  useless  for  the  clumsy  male  psychologist  to 
pretend  that  he  can  see  into  the  heart  of  a  woman, 
especially  when  the  normal  action  of  said  heart  is  com- 
plicated by  such  queer  conventionalities  as  that  of  a 
countess  who  feels  a  distinct  liking  for  her  son's  tutor; 
but  if  I  may  venture  to  attempt  that  impossible  feat 
of  clairvoyance  without  rebuke,  I  should  be  inclined 
to  diagnose  Lady  Surrey's  condition  as  she  lay  sleep- 
less for  an  hour  or  so  on  her  pillow  that  night  some- 
what as  follows.  She  thought  that  Harry  Vardon 
was  really  a  very  clever  and  a  very  pleasant  fellow. 
She  thought  that  men  in  society  were  generally  dread- 
fully empty-headed  and  horribly  vain.  She  thought 
that  the  importance  of  disparity  in  age  had,  as  a  rule, 
been  immensely  overrated.  She  thought  that  rank  was 
after  all  much  less  valuable  than  she  used  to  think  it 
when  first  she  married  poor  dear  Surrey,  who  was  really 
the  kindest  of  men,  and  a  thorough  gentleman,  but 
certainly  not  at  all  brilliant.  She  thought  that  a 
young  man  of  Harry's  talent  might,  if  well  connected, 
get  into  parliament  and  rise,  like  Beaconsfield,  to  any 
position.  She  thought  he  was  very  frank  and  open, 
and  gentlemanly ;  and  very  handsome,  too.  She 
thought  he  had  half  hesitated  whether  he  should  pro- 
pose to  her  or  not,  and  had  then  drawn  back  because 
he  was  not  certain  of  the  consequences.     She  thought 


192  STRANGE  STORIES. 

that  if  he  had  proposed  to  her — well,  perhaps — why, 
yes,  she  might  even  possibly  have  accepted  him.  She 
thought  he  would  probably  propose  in  earnest,  before 
long,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  she  was  not  wholly  averse 
to  his  attentions.  She  thought  in  that  case  she  might 
perhaps  provisionally  accept  him,  and  get  him  to  try 
what  he  could  do  in  the  way  of  obtaining  some  sort  of 
position — she  didn't  exactly  know  what — where  he 
could  more  easily  marry  her  with  the  least  possible 
shock  to  the  feelings  of  society.  And  she  thought  that 
she  really  didn't  know  before,  for  twenty  years,  at 
least,  how  great  a  goose  she  positively  was. 

Next  morning,  after  breakfast.  Lady  Surrey  sent 
for  Gladys  to  come  to  her  in  her  boudoir.  Then  she 
put  her  daughter  in  a  chair  by  the  window,  drew  her 
own  close  to  it,  laid  her  hand  kindly  on  her  shoulder — 
she  was  a  nice  little  woman  at  heart,  was  the  countess 
— and  said  to  her  gently,  "  My  dear  Gladys,  there's  a 
little  matter  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about.  You  are 
still  very  young,  you  know,  dear  ;  and  I  think  you 
ought  to  be  very  careful  about  not  letting  your  feel- 
ings be  played  upon  in  any  way,  however  uncon- 
sciously. Now,  you  walk  and  talk  a  great  deal  too 
much,  dear,  with  Mr.  Vardon.  In  many  ways,  it 
would  be  well  that  you  should.  Mr.  Vardon  is  very 
clever,  and  very  well  informed,  and  a  very  instructive 
companion.  I  like  you  to  talk  to  intelligent  people,  and 
to  hear  intelligent  people  talk  ;  it  gives  you  something 
that  mere  books  can  never  give.  But  you  know, 
Gladys,  you  should  always  remember  the  disparity  in 
your  stations.  I  don't  deny  that  there's  a  great  deal 
in  all  that  sort  of  thing  that's  very  conventional  and 
absurd,  my  dear  ;  but  still,  girls  are  girls,  and  if  they're 


AN  EPISODE  IN  HIGH  LIFE.  •       I93 

thrown  too  much  with  any  one  young  man  " — Lady 
Surrey  was  going  to  add,  "  especially  when  he's  hand- 
some and  agreeable,"  but  she  checked  herself  in  time 
— "  they're  very  apt  to  form  an  affection  for  him. 
Of  course,  I'm  not  suggesting  that  you're  likely  to  do 
anything  of  the  sort  with  Mr.  Vardon — I  don't  for  a 
moment  suppose  you  would — but  a  girl  can  never  be 
too  careful.  I  hope  you  know  your  position  too  well  ;'* 
here  Lady  Surrey  was  conscious  of  certain  internal 
qualms ;  **  and  indeed  whether  it  was  Mr.  Vardon  or 
anybody  else,  you  are  much  too  young  to  fill  your 
head  with  such  notions  at  your  age.  Of  course,  if 
some  really  good  offer  had  been  made  to  you  even  in 
your  first  season — say  Lord  St.  Ives  or  Sir  Montague 
—I  don't  say  it  might  not  have  been  prudent  to  accept 
it ;  but  under  ordinary  circumstances,  a  girl  does  best 
to  think  as  little  as  possible  about  such  things  until 
she  is  twenty  at  least.  However,  I  hope  in  future 
you'll  remember  that  I  don't  wish  you  to  be  quite  so 
familiar  in  your  intercourse  with  Mr.  Vardon." 

"  Very  well,  mamma,"  said  Gladys  quietly,  drawing 
herself  up  ;  "I  have  heard  what  you  want  to  say,  and 
I  shall  try  to  do  as  you  wish.  But  I  should  like  to 
say  something  in  return,  if  you'll  be  so  kind  as  to  lis- 
ten to  me." 

"  Certainly,  darling,"  Lady  Surrey  answered,  with  a 
vague  foreboding  of  something  wrong. 

"  I  don't  say  I  care  any  more  for  Mr.  Vardon  than 
for  anybody  else  ;  I  haven't  seen  enough  of  him  to 
know  whether  I  care  for  him  or  not.  But  if  ever  I  do 
care  for  anybody,  it  will  be  for  somebody  like  him, 
and  not  for  somebody  like  Lord  St.  Ives  or  Monty 
Fitzroy.     I  don't  like  the  men  I  meet  in  town  ;  they 


194  STRANGE  STORIES. 

all  talk  to  us  as  if  we  were  dolls  or  babies.  I  don't 
want  to  marry  a  man  who  says  to  himself,  as  Surrey 
says  already,  *  Ah,  I  shall  look  out  for  some  rich  girl 
or  other  and  make  her  a  countess,  if  she's  a  good  girl, 
and  if  she  suits  me.'  I'd  rather  have  a  man  like  Mr. 
Vardon  than  any  of  the  men  we  ever  meet  in  Lon- 
don." 

"  But,  my  darling,"  said  Lady  Surrey,  quite  alarmed 
at  Gladys's  too  serious  tone,  *'  surely  there  are  gentle- 
men quite  as  clever  and  quite  as  intellectual  as  Mr. 
Vardon." 

"Mamma!"  cried  Gladys,  rising,  "do  you  mean  to 
say  Mr.  Vardon  is  not  a  gentleman?" 

'•  Gladys,  Gladys  !  sit  down,  dear.  Don't  get  so  ex- 
cited. Of  course  he  is.  I  trust  I  have  as  great  a 
respect  as  anybody  for  talent  and  culture.  But  what 
I  meant  to  say  was  this — can't  you  find  as  much  talent 
and  culture  among  people  of  our  own  station  as — as 
among  people  of  Mr.  Vardon's  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Gladys  shortly. 

"  Really,  my  dear,  you  are  too  hard  upon  the 
peerage." 

**  Well,  mamma,  can  you  mention  anyone  that  we 
know  who  is  ?"  asked  the  peremptory  girl. 

"  Not  exactly  in  our  own  set,"  said  Lady  Surrey  hesi- 
tatingly ;  "  but  surely  there  must  be  some.'* 

"  I  don't  know  them,"  Gladys  replied  quietly,  "  and 
till  I  do  know  them,  I  shall  remain  of  my  own  opinion 
still.  If  you  wish  me  not  to  see  so  much  of  Mr.  Var- 
don, I  shall  try  to  do  as  you  say ;  but  if  I  happen  to 
like  any  particular  person,  whether  he's  a  peer  or  a 
ploughboy,  I  can't  help  liking  him,  so  there's  an  end  of 
it."    And  Gladys  kissed  her  mother  demurely  on  the 


AN  EPISODE  IN   HIGH   LIFE.  I95 

forehead,  and  walked  with  a  stately  sweep  out  of  the 
room. 

"  It's  perfectly  clear,"  said  Lady  Surrey  to  herself, 
"  that  that  girl's  in  love  with  Mr.  Vardon.and  what  on 
earth  I'm  to  do  about  it  is  to  me  a  mystery."  And 
indeed  Lady  Surrey's  position  was  by  no  means  an 
easy  one.  On  the  one  hand,  she  felt  that  whatever  she 
herself,  who  was  a  person  of  mature  years,  might  hap- 
pen to  do,  it  would  be  positively  wicked  in  her  to 
allow  a  young  girl  like  Gladys  to  throw  herself  away 
on  a  man  in  Harry  Vardon's  position.  Without  any 
shadow  of  an  arritre  pensee^  that  was  her  genuine  feel- 
ing as  a  mother,  and  a  member  of  society.  But  then, 
on  the  other  hand,  how  could  she  oppose  it,  if  she 
really  ever  thought  herself,  even  conditionally,  of  mar- 
rying Harry  Vardon?  Could  she  endure  that  her 
daughter  should  think  she  had  acted  as  her  rival  ? 
Could  she  press  the  point  about  Harry's  conventional 
disadvantEiges,  when  she  herself  had  some  vague  idea 
that  if  Harry  offered  himself  as  Gladys's  stepfather,  she 
would  not  be  wholly  disinclined  to  consider  his  pro- 
posal ?  Could  she  set  it  down  as  a  crime  in  her  daugh- 
ter to  form  the  very  selfsame  affection  which  she  her- 
self had  well-nigh  formed  ?  Moreover,  she  couldn't 
help  feeling  in  her  heart  that  Gladys  was  right,  after 
all ;  and  that  the  daughter's  defiance  of  convent:*.  >nality 
was  implicitly  inherited  from  the  mother.  If  she  had 
met  Harry  Vardon  twenty  years  ago,  she  would  have 
thought  and  spoken  much  like  Gladys;  in  fact,  though 
she  didn't  speak,  she  thought  so,  very  nearly,  even 
now.  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  obliged  to  write  out  these 
faint  outlines  of  ideas  in  all  the  brutal  plainness  of  the 
English  language  as  spoken  by  men  ;  I  cannot  give  all 


196  STRANGE  STORIES. 

those  fine  shades  of  unspoken  reservations  and  wo- 
manly self-deceptive  subterfuges  by  which  the  poor 
little  countess  half  disguised  her  own  meaning  even 
from  herself ;  but  at  least  you  will  not  be  surprised  to 
hear  that  in  the  end  she  lay  down  on  the  little  couch 
in  the  corner,  covered  her  face  with  chagrin  and  disap- 
pointment, and  had  a  good  cry.  Then  she  got  up  an 
hour  later,  washed  her  eyes  carefully  to  take  off  the 
redness,  put  on  her  pretty,  dove-colored  morning 
gown  with  the  lace  trimming — she  looked  charming  in 
lace — and  went  down  smiling  to  lunch,  as  pleasant  and 
cheery  a  little  widow  of  thirty-seven  as  ever  you  would 
wish  to  see.  Upon  my  soul,  Harry  Vardon,  I  really 
almost  think  you  will  be  a  fool  if  you  don't  finally 
marry  the  countess ! 

"  Gladys,"  said  little  Lord  Surrey  to  his  sister  that 
evening,  when  she  came  into  his  room  on  her  way 
upstairs  to  bed — "Gladys,  it's  my  opinion  you're  get- 
ting too  sweet  on  this  fellow  Vardon." 

"  I  shall  be  obliged,  Surrey,  if  you'll  mind  your  own 
business,  and  allow  me  to  mind  mine." 

"  Oh,  it's  no  use  coming  the  high  and  mighty  over 
me,  I  can  tell  you,  so  don't  you  try  it  on.  Besides,  I 
have  something  1  want  to  speak  to  you  about  particu- 
larly. It's  my  opinion  also  that  my  lady's  doing  the 
very  same  thing." 

**  What  nonsense,  Surrey !"  cried  Gladys,  coloring 
up  to  her  eyebrows  in  a  second ;  "  how  dare  you  say 
such  a  thing  about  mamma  ?"  But  a  light  broke  in 
upon  her  suddenly  all  the  same,  and  a  number  of  little 
unnoticed  circumstances  flashed  back  at  once  upon  her 
memory  with  a  fresh  flood  of  meaning. 

"  Nonsense  or  not,  it's  true,  I  know ;  and  what  I 


AN  EPISODE   IN  HIGH  LIFE.  '  I97 

want  to  say  to  you  is  this — If  old  Vardon's  to  marry 
either  of  you,  it  ought  to  be  you,  because  that  would 
save  mamma  at  any  rate  from  making  a  fool  of  her- 
self. As  far  as  I'm  concerned,  I'd  rather  neither  of 
you  did  ;  for  I  don't  see  why  either  of  you  should  want 
to  marry  a  beggarly  fellow  of  a  tutor  " — Gladys's  eyes 
flashed  fire — *'  though  Vardon's  a  decent  enough  chap 
in  his  way,  if  that  was  all ;  but  at  any  rate,  as  one  or 
other  of  you's  cock-sure  to  do  it,  I  don't  want  him  for 
a  stepfather.  "  So  you  see,  as  far  as  that  goes,  I  back 
the  filly.  Now,  say  no  more  about  it,  but  go  to  bed 
like  a  good  girl,  and  mind,  whatever  you  do,  you  don't 
forget  to  say  your  prayers.     Good-night,  old  girl." 

"  I  would't  marry  a  fellow  like  Surrey,"  said  Gladys 
to  herself,  as  she  went  upstairs,  "  no,  not  if  he  was  the 
premier  duke  of  England  !" 

For  the  next  three  weeks  there  was  such  a  comedy 
of  errors  and  cross-purposes  at  Colyford  Abbey  as  was 
never  seen  before  anywhere  outside  of  one  of  Mr  Gil- 
bert's clever  extravaganzas.  Lady  Surrey  tried  to 
keep  Gladys  in  every  possible  way  out  of  Harry's  sight; 
while  her  brother  tried  in  every  possible  way  to  throw 
them  together.  Gladys  on  her  part  half  avoided  him, 
and  yet  grew  somewhat  more  confidential  than  ever 
whenever  she  happened  to  talk  with  him.  Harry  did 
not  feel  quite  so  much  at  home  as  before  with  Lady 
Surrey ;  he  had  an  uncomfortable  sense  that  he  had 
failed  to  acquit  himself  as  he  ought  to  have  done ; 
while  Lady  Surrey  had  a  half  suspicion  that  she  had 
let  him  see  her  unfledged  secret  a  little  too  early  and 
too  openly.  The  natural  consequence  of  all  this  was 
that  Harry  was  cast  far  more  than  before  upon  the 
society   of   Ethel    Martindale,  with   whom   he   often 


198  STRANGE   STORIES.       ' 

strolled  about  the  shrubbery  till  very  close  upon  the 
dressing  gong.  Ethel  did  not  come  down  to  dinner — 
she  dined  with  the  little  ones  at  the  family  luncheon  ; 
and  that  horrid  galling  distinction  cut  Harry  to  the 
quick  every  night  when  he  left  her  to  go  in.  Every 
day,  too,  it  began  to  dawn  upon  him  more  clearly  that 
the  vague  reason  which  had  kept  him  back  from  pro- 
posing to  Lady  Surrey  on  that  eventful  night  was  just 
this — that  Ethel  Martindale  had  made  herself  a  certain 
vacant  niche  in  his  unfurnished  heart.  She  was  a  dear, 
quiet,  unassuming  little  girl,  but  so  very  graceful,  so 
very  tender,  so  very  womanly,  that  she  crept  into  his 
affections  unawares  without  possibility  of  resistance. 
The  countess  was  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  woman 
of  the  world,  with  a  real  heart  left  in  her  still,  but  not 
quite  the  sort  of  tender,  shrinking  girlish  heart  that 
Harry  wanted.  Gladys  was  a  lovely  girl  with  stately 
manners  and  a  wonderfully  formed  character,  but  too 
great  and  too  redolent  of  society  for  Harry.  He  ad- 
mired them  both,  each  in  her  own  way,  but  he  couldn't 
possibly  have  lived  a  lifetime  with  either.  But  Ethel, 
dear,  meek,  pretty,  gentle  little  Ethel — well,  there,  I'm 
not  going  to  repeat  for  you  all  the  raptures  that  Harry 
went  into  over  that  perennial  and  ever  rejuvenescent 
theme.  For,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  about  three  weeks 
after  the  night  when  Harry  did  not  propose  to  the 
countess,  he  actually  did  propose  to  Ethel  Martindale. 
And  Ethel,  after  many  timid  protests,  after  much  de- 
mure self-depreciation  and  declaration  of  utter  un- 
worthiness  for  such  a  man — which  made  Harry  wild 
with  indignation — did  finally  let  him  put  her  little 
hand  to  his  lips,  and  whispered  a  sort  of  broken  and 
blushing  "  Yes." 


AN   EPISODE  IN   HIGH   LIFE.  1 99 

What  a  fool  he  had  been,  he  thought  that  evening, 
to  suppose  for  half  a  second  that  Lady  Surrey  had 
ever  meant  to  regard  him  in  any  other  light  than  her 
son's  tutor.  He  hated  himself  for  his  owi  nonsensical 
vanity.  Who  was  he  that  he  should  tancy  all  the 
women  in  England  were  in  love  with  him  ? 

Next  morning's  Times  contained  that  curious  an- 
nouncement about  its  being  the  intention  of  the  Gov- 
ernment to  appoint  an  electrician  to  the  Admiralty, 
and  inviting  applications  from  distinguished  men  of 
science.  Now  Harry,  young  as  he  was,  had  just  per- 
fected his  great  system  of  the  double  revolving  com- 
mutator and  back-action  rheostat  (Patent  Office,  No. 
18,237,504),  and  had  sent  in  a  paper  on  the  subject 
which  had  been  read  with  great  success  at  the  Royal 
Society.  The  famous  Professor  Brusegay  himself  had 
described  it  as  a  remarkable  invention,  likely  to  prove 
of  immense  practical  importance  to  telegraphy  and 
electrical  science  generally.  So  when  Harry  saw  the 
announcement  that  morning,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
apply  for  the  appointment  at  once ;  and  he  thought 
that  if  he  got  it,  as  the  salary  was  a  good  one,  he 
might  before  long  marry  Ethel,  and  yet  manage  to 
keep  Edith  in  the  Same  comfort  as  before. 

Lady  Surrey  saw  the  paragraph  too,  and  had  her 
own  ideas  about  what  it  might  be  made  to  do.  It  was 
the  very  opening  that  Harry  wanted,  and  if  he  got  it, 
why  then,  no  doubt  he  might  make  the  proposal  which 
he  evidently  felt  afraid  to  make,  poor  fellow,  in  his 
present  position.  So  she  went  into  her  boudoir  im- 
mediately after  breakfast,  and  wrote  two  careful  and 
cautiously  worded  little  notes.  One  was  to  Dr.  Bruse- 
gay, whom  she  knew  well,  mentioning  to  him  that  her 


200  v'  STRANGE  STORIES. 

son's  tutor  was  the  author  of  that  remarkable  paper  on 
jommutators,  and  that  she  thought  he  would  probably 
be  admirably  fitted  for  the  post,  but  that  on  that  point 
the  Professor  himself  was  the  best  judge ;  the  other 
was  to  her  cousin,  Lord  Ardenleigli,  who  was  a  great 
man  in  the  government  of  the  day,  suggesting  casually 
thit  he  should  look  into  the  claims  of  her  friend, 
Mr.  Vardon,  for  this  new  place  at  the  Admiralty. 
Two  nicer  little  notes,  written  with  better  tact  and 
judgment,  it  would  be  difificult  to  find. 

At  that  very  moment  Harry  was  also  sitting  down 
in  his  own  room,  after  five  minutes'  consultation  with 
Ethel,  to  make  formal  application  for  the  new  post. 
And  after  lunch  the  same  day  he  spoke  to  Lady  Surrey 
upon  the  subject. 

"  There  is  one  special  reason,"  he  said,  "  why  I 
should  like  to  get  this  post,  and  I  think  I  ought  to  let 
you  know  it  now."  Poor  little  Lady  Surrey's  heart 
fluttered  like  a  girl's.  "  The  fact  is,  I  am  anxious  to 
obtain  a  position  which  would  enable  me  to  marry." 
("  How  very  bluntly  he  puts  it,"  said  the  countess  to 
herself.)  "  I  ought  to  tell  you,  I  think,  that  I  have 
proposed  to  Miss  Martindale,  and  she  has  accepted 
me." 

Miss  Martindale!  Great  heavens,  how  the  room 
reeled  round  the  poor  little  woman,  as  she  stood  with 
her  hand  on  the  table,  trying  to  balance  herself,  trying 
to  conceal  her  shame  and  mortification,  trying  to  look 
as  if  the  announcement  did  not  concern  her  in  any 
way.  Poor,  dear,  good  little  countess  ;  from  my  heart 
I  pity  you.  Miss  Martindale!  why,  she  had  never 
even  thought  of  her.  A  mere  governess,  a  nobody ; 
and  Harry  Vardon,  with  his  magnificent  intellect  and 


AN  EPISODE   IN  HIGH  LIFE.  201 

splendid  prospects,  was  going  to  throw  himself  away 
on  that  girl !  She  could  hardly  control  herself  to  an- 
swer him,  but  with  a  great  effort  she  gulped  down  her 
feelings,  and  remarked  that  Ethel  Martindale  was  a 
very  good  girl,  and  would  doubtless  make  an  admirable 
wife.  And  then  she  walked  quietly  out  of  the  room, 
stepped  up  the  stairs  somewhat  faster,  rushed  into  her 
boudoir,  double-locked  the  door,  and  burst  into  a  per- 
fect flood  of  hot,  scalding  tears.  At  that  moment  she 
began  to  realize  the  fact  that  she  had  in  truth  liked 
Harry  Vardon  much  more  than  a  little. 

By  and  by  she  got  up,  went  over  to  her  desk,  took 
out  the  two  unposted  notes,  tore  them  into  fragments, 
and  then  carefully  burnt  them  up  piece  by  piece,  in  a 
perfect  holocaust  of  white  paper.  What  a  wicked, 
vindictive  little  countess  !  Was  she  going  to  spoil 
these  two  young  people's  lives,  to  throw  every  possible 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  marriage  ?  Not  a  bit  of 
it.  As  soon  as  her  eyes  allowed  her,  she  sat  down  and 
wrote  two  more  notes,  a  great  deal  stronger  and  better 
than  before  ;  for  this  time  she  need  not  fear  the  possi- 
bility of  after  reflections  from  an  unkind  world.  She 
said  a  great  deal  in  a  casual,  half-hinting  fashion  about 
Harry's  merits,  and  remarked  upon  the  loss  that  she 
should  sustain  in  the  removal  of  such  a  tutor  from 
Lord  Surrey ;  but  she  felt  that,  sooner  or  later,  his 
talents  must  get  him  a  higher  recognition,  and  she 
hoped  Dr.  Brusegay  and  her  cousin  would  use  their 
influence  to  obtain  him  the  appointment.  Then  she 
went  downstairs  feeling  like  a  Christian  martyr,  kissed 
and  congratulated  Ethel,  talked  gayly  about  Bartolozzi 
to  Harry,  and  tried  to  make  b(  eve  that  she  took  the 
engagement  as  a  matter  of  course.     Nothing,  in  fact, 


202  STRANGE  STORIES. 

as  she  remarked  to  Gladys,  could  possibly  be  more 
suitable.  Gladys  bit  her  tongue,  and  answered  shortly 
that  she  didn't  herself  perceive  any  special  natural 
congruity  about  the  match,  but  perhaps  her  mother 
was  better  informed  on  the  subject. 

Now,  we  all  know  that  in  the  matter  of  public 
appointment  anything  like  backstairs  influence  or 
indirect  canvassing  is  positively  fatal  to  the  succer s  of 
a  candidate.  Accordingly,  it  may  surprise  you  to 
learn  that  when  Professor  Brusegay  (who  held  the 
appointment  virtually  in  his  hands)  opened  his  letters 
next  morning  he  said  to  his  wife,  "  Why,  Miiria,  that 
young  fellow  Vardon  who  wrote  that  astonishingly 
clever  paper  on  commutators,  you  know,  is  tutor  at 
Lady  Surrey's,  and  she  wants  him  to  get  this  place  at 
the  Admiralty.  We  must  really  see  what  we  can  do 
about  it.  Lady  Surrey  is  such  a  very  useful  person  to 
.  know,  and  besides  it's  so  important  to  keep  on  good 
terms  with  her,  for  the  Paulsons  would  be  absolutely 
intolerable  if  we  hadn't  its  acquaintance  in  the  peerage 
to  play  off  against  their  Lord  Poodlebury."  And 
when  the  Professor  shortly  afterwards  mentioned 
Harry's  name  to  Lord  Ardenleigh,  his  lordship  re- 
marked immediately,  "  Why,  bless  my  soul,  that's  the 
very  man  Amelia  wrote  to  me  about.  He  shall  have 
the  place  by  all  means."  And  they  both  wrote  back 
nice  little  notes  to  Lady  Surrey,  to  say  that  she  might 
consider  the  matter  settled,  but  that  she  mustn't  men- 
tion it  to  Harry  until  the  appointment  was  regularly 
announced.  Anything  so  remarkable  in  this  age  of 
purity  I  for  my  part  have  seldom  heard  of. 

Lady  Surrey  never  did  mention  the  matter  to  Harry 
from  that  day  to  this ;  and  Sir  Henry  Vardon,  K.C.B., 


AN   EPISODE   IN   HIGH   LIFE.  203 

does  not  for  a  moment  imagine  even  now  that  he  owes 
his  advancement  to  anything  but  his  own  native 
merits.  He  married  Ethel  shortly  after,  and  a  prettier 
or  more  blushing  bride  you  never  saw.  Lady  Surrey 
has  been  their  best  friend  in  society,  and  still  sighs 
occasionally  when  she  sees  Harry  a  great  magnate  in 
his  way,  and  thinks  of  the  narrow  escape  he  had  that 
night  at  Colyford.  As  to  Gladys,  she  consistently 
refused  several  promising  heirs,  at  least  twenty 
younger  sons,  and  a  score  or  so  of  wealthy  young  men 
whose  papas  were  something  in  the  City,  her  first  five 
seasons ;  and  then,  to  Lord  Surrey's  horror,  she 
married  a  young  Scotchman  from  Glasgow,  who  was 
merely  a  writer  for  some  London  paper,  and  had 
nothing  on  earth  but  a  head  on  his  shoulders  to  bless 
himself  with.  His  lordship  himself  "bagged  an 
heiress  "  as  he  expressively  puts  it,  with  several  thou- 
sands a  year  of  her  own,  and  is  now  one  of  the  most 
respected  members  of  his  party,  who  may  be  counted 
upon  always  to  vote  straight,  and  never  to  have  any 
opinions  of  his  own  upon  any  subject  except  the 
improvement  of  the  British  racehorse.  He  often 
wishes  Gladys  had  taken  his  advice  and  married 
Vardon,  who  is  at  least  in  respectable  society,  instead 
of  that  shock-headed  Scotch  fellow — but  there,  the 
girl  was  always  full  of  fancies,  and  never  would  behave 
like  other  people. 

For  myself,  I  am  a  horrid  radical,  and  republican, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  have  a  perfectly  rabid 
hatred  of  titles  and  so  forth,  don't  you  know  ? — but 
still,  on  the  first  day  when  Ethel  went  to  call  on  the 
countess  dowager  after  Harry  was  knighted,  I  hap- 
pened to  be  present  (purely  on  business),  and  heard 


204  '  STRANGE  STORIES. 

her  duly  announced  as  "  Lady  Vardon  ":  and  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honor  I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  grudge  the  dear  little  woman  the  flush  of  pride  that 
rose  upon  her  cheek  as  she  entered  the  room  for  the 
first  time  in  her  new  position.  It  was  a  pleasure  to 
me  (who  know  the  whole  story)  to  see  Lady  Surrey 
kiss  the  little  ex-governess  warmly  on  her  cheek  and 
say  to  her,  "  My  dear  Lady  Vardon,  I  am  so  glad,  so 
very,  very  glad."  And  I  really  believe  she  meant  it. 
After  all,  in  spite  of  her  little  weakness,  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  human  nature  left  in  the  countess. 


MY  NEW  YEARS  EVE  AMONG  THE 

MUMMIES. 

I  HAVE  been  a  wanderer  and  a  vagabond  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  for  a  good  many  years  now,  and  I 
have  certainly  had  some  odd  adventures  in  my  time  ; 
but  1  can  assure  you,  I  never  spent  twenty-four 
queerer  hours  than  those  which  I  passed  some  twelve 
months  since  in  the  great  unopened  Pyramid  of  Abu 
Yilla. 

The  way  I  got  there  was  itself  a  very  strange  one. 
I  had  come  to  Egypt  for  a  winter  tour  with  the  Fitz- 
Simkinses,  to  whose  daughter  Editha  I  was  at  that 
precise  moment  engaged.  You  will  probably  remem- 
ber that  old  Fitz-Simkins  belonged  originally  to  the 
wealthy  firm  of  Simkinson  and  Stokoe,  worshipful 
vintners ;  but  when  the  senior  partner  retired  from  the 
business  and  got  his  knighthood,  th^e  College  of  Her- 
alds opportunely  discovered  that  his  ancestors  had 
changed  their  fine  old  Norman  name  for  its  English 
equivalent  sometime  about  the  reign  of  King  Richard 
I.  ;  and  they  immediately  authorized  the  old  gentleman 
to  resume  the  patronymic  and  the  armorial  bearings 
of  his  distinguished  forefathers.  It's  really  quite  as- 
tonishing how  often  these  curious  coincidences  crop 
up  at  the  College  of  Heralds. 

Of  course  it  was  a  great  catch  for  a  landless  and 

[205] 


2o6  STRANGE   STORIES. 

briefless  barrister  like  myself — dependent  on  a  small 
fortune  in  South  American  securities,  and  my  precari- 
ous earnings  as  a  writer  of  burlesque — to  secure  such 
a  valuable  prospective  property  as  Editha  Fitz-Simkins. 
To  be  sure,  the  girl  was  undeniably  plain  ;  but  I  have 
known  plainer  girls  than  she  was,  whom  forty  thou- 
sand pounds  converted  into  My  Ladies;  and  if  Editha 
hadn't  reallv  fallen  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
me,  I  suppose  old  Fitz-Simkins  would  never  have  con- 
sented to  such  a  match.  As  it  was,  however,  we  had 
flirted  so  openly  and  so  desperately  during  the  Scar- 
borough season,  that  it  would  have  been  difificult  for 
Sir  Peter  to  break  it  off ;  and  so  I  had  come  to  Egypt 
on  a  tour  of  insurance  to  secure  my  prize,  following  in 
the  wake  of  my  future  mother-in-law,  whose  lungs  were 
supposed  to  require  a  genial  climate — though  in  my 
private  opinion  they  were  really  as  creditable  a  pair 
of  pulmonary  appendages  as  ever  drew  breath. 

Neverthless,  the  course  of  our  true  love  did  not  run 
so  smoothly  as  might  have  been  expected.  Editha 
found  me  less  ardent  than  a  devoted  squire  should  be ; 
and  on  the  very  last  night  of  the  old  year  she  got  up 
a  regulation  lover's  quarrel,  because  I  had  sneaked 
away  from  the  boa^:  that  afternoon,  under  the  guidance 
of  our  dragoman,  to  witness  the  seductive  perform- 
ances of  some  fair  Ghawdzi,  the  dancing  girls  of  a 
neighboring  town.  How  she  found  it  out  heaven  only 
knows,  for  I  gave  that  rascal  Dimitri  five  piastres  to 
hold  his  tongue  ;  but  she  did  find  it  out  somehow, 
and  chose  to  regard  it  as  an  offence  of  the  first  magni- 
tude ;  a  mortal  sin  only  to  be  expiated  by  three  days 
of  penance  and  humiliation. 

I  went  to  bed  that  night,  in  my  hammock  on  deck, 


MY  NEW  year's  EVE  AMONG  TllE  MUMMIES.      20/ 

with  feelings  far  from  satisfactory.  We  were  moored 
against  the  bank  at  Abu  Yilla,  the  most  pestiferous 
hole  between  the  cataracts  and  the  Delta.  The  mos- 
quitoes werti  l|l*rsc  than  the  ordinary  mosquitoes  of 
Egypt,  and  tfiat  is  saying  a  great  deal.  The  heat  was 
oppressive  even  at  night,  and  the  malaria  from  the  lotus 
beds  rose  l>':e  a  palpable  mist  before  my  eyes.  Above 
all,  I  was  getting  doubtful  whether  Editha  Fitz-Simkins 
might  not  after  all  slip  between  my  fingers,  I  felt 
wretched  and  feverish  ;  and  yet  I  had  delightful  inter- 
lusive  recollections,  in  between,  of  that  lovely  little 
Ghdziyah,  who  danced  that  exquisite,  marvellous,  en- 
trancing, delicious,  and  awfully  oriental  dance  that  I 
saw  in  the  afternoon. 

By  Jove,  she  zvas  a  beautiful  creature.  Eyes  like  two 
full  moons;  hair  like  Milton's  Penseroso ;  movements 
like  a  poem  of  Swinburn's  set  to  action.  If  Editha 
was  only  a  faint  picture  of  that  girl  now  !  Upon  my 
word,  I  was  falling  in  love  with  a  Ghdziyah  ! 

Then  the  mosquitoes  came  agdUi.  Buzz — buzz — 
buzz.  I  make  a  lunge  at  the  loudest  and  biggest,  a 
sort  of  prima  donna  in  their  infernal  opera.  I  kill 
the  prima  donna,  but  ten  more  shrill  performers  come 
in  its  place.  The  frogs  croak  dismally  in  the  reedy 
shallows.  The  night  grows  hotter  and  hotter  still.  At 
last,  I  can  stand  it  no  longer.  I  rise  up,  dress  myself 
lightly,  and  jump  ashore  to  find  some  way  of  passing 
the  time. 

Yonder,  across  the  flat,  lies  the  great  unopened 
Pyramid  of  Abu  Yilla.  We  are  going  to-morrow  to 
climb  to  the  top  ;  but  I  will  take  a  turn  to  reconnoitre 
in  that  direction  now.  I  walk  across  the  moonlit 
fields,  my  soul  still  divided  between  Editha  and  the 


2o8  STRANGE  STORIKS. 

Ghdziyah,  and  approach  the  solemn  mass  of  huge,  an- 
tiquated granite  blocks  standing  out  so  grimly  against 
the  pale  horizon.  I  feel  half  awake,  half  asleep,  and 
altogether  feverish :  but  I  poke  about  the  base  in  an 
aimless  sort  of  way,  with  a  vague  idea  that  I  may  per- 
haps discover  by  chance  the  secret  of  its  sealed  en- 
trance, which  has  ere  now  baffled  so  many  pertinacious 
explorers  and  learned  Egyptologists. 

As  I  walk  along  the  base,  I  remember  old  Herodo- 
tus's  story,  like  a  page  from  the  "  Arabian  Nights," 
of  how  King  Rhampsinitus  built  himself  a  treasury, 
wherein  one  stone  turned  on  a  pivot  like  a  door  ;  and 
how  the  builder  availed  himself  of  this  his  cunning 
device  to  steal  gold  from  the  king's  storehouse.  Sup- 
pose the  entrance  to  the  unopened  Pyramid  should  be 
by  such  a  door.  It  would  be  curious  if  I  should  chance 
to  light  upon  the  very  spot. 

I  stood  in  the  broad  moonlight,  near  the  northeast 
angle  of  the  great  pile,  at  the  twelfth  stone  from  the 
corner.  A  random  fancy  struck  me,  that  I  might  turn 
this  stone  by  pushing  it  inward  on  the  left  side.  I 
leant  against  it  with  all  my  weight,  and  tried  to  move 
it  on  the  imaginary  pivot.  Did  it  give  way  a  fraction 
of  an  inch?  No,  it  must  have  been  mere  fancy. 
Let  me  try  again.  Surely  it  is  yielding  !  Gracious 
Osiris,  it  has  moved  an  inch  or  more  !  My  heart  beats 
fast,  either  with  fever  or  excitement,  and  I  try  a  third 
time.  The  rust  of  centuries  on  the  pivot  wears  slowly 
off,  and  the  stone  turns  ponderously  round,  giving 
access  to  a  low  dark  passage. 

It  must  have  been  madness  which  led  me  to  enter 
the  forgotten  corridor,  alone,  without  torch  or  match, 
at  that  hour  of  the  evening ;  but  at  any  rate  I  entered. 


./ 


MY  NEW  year's  eve  AMONG  THE  MUMMIES.     209 

The  passage  was  tall  enough  for  a  man  to  walk  erect, 
and  I  could  feel,  as  I  groped  slowly  along,  that  the 
wall  was  composed  of  ^^ooth  polished  granite,  while 
the  floor  sloped  away  dov.  .iward  with  a  slight  but  reg- 
ular descent.  I  walked  with  trembling  heart  and  fal- 
tering feet  for  some  forty  or  fifty  yards  down  the: 
mysterious  vestibule  :  and  then  I  felt  myself  brought 
suddenly  to  a  standstill  by  a  block  of  stone  placed 
right  across  the  pathway.  I  had  had  nearly  enough 
for  one  evening,  and  I  was  preparing  to  return  to  the 
boat,  agog  with  my  new  discovery,  when  my  attention 
was  suddenly  arrested  by  an  incredible,  a  perfectly 
miraculous  fact. 

The  block  of  stone  which  barred  the  passage  was 
faintly  visible  as  a  square,  by  means  of  a  struggling 
belt  of  light  streaming  through  the  seams.  There 
must  be  a  lamp  or  other  flame  burning  within.  What 
if  this  were  a  door  like  the  outer  one,  leading  into  a 
chamber  perhaps  inhabited  by  some  dangerous  band 
of  outcasts?  The  light  was  a  sure  evidence  of  human 
occupation  :  and  yet  the  outer  door  swung  rustily  on 
its  pivot  as  though  it  had  never  been  opened  for  ages. 
I  paused  a  moment  in  fear  before  I  ventured  to  try 
the  stone  :  and  then,  urged  on  once  more  by  some  in- 
sane impulse,  I  turned  the  massive  block  with  all  my 
might  to  the  left.  It  gave  way  slowly  like  its  neigh- 
bor, and  finally  opened  into  the  central  hall. 

Never  as  long  as  I  live  shall  I  forget  the  ecstasy  of 
terror,  astonishment,  and  blank  dismay  which  seized 
upon  me  when  I  stepped  into  that  seemingly  en- 
chanted chamber.  A  blaze  of  light  first  burst  upon 
my  eyes,  from  jets  of  gas  arranged  in  regular  rows 
tier  above  tier,  upcm  the  columns  and  walls  of  the  vast 


210  STRANGE  STORIES. 

apartment.  Huge  pillars,  richly  painted  with  red, 
yellow,  blue,  and  green  decorations,  stretched  in  end- 
less succession  down  the  dazzling  aisles.  A  floor  of 
polished  syenite  reflected  the  splendor  of  the  lamps, 
and  afforded  a  base  for  red  granite  sphinxes  and  dark 
purple  images  in  porphyry  of  the  cat-faced  goddess 
I'asht,  whose  form  I  knew  so  well  at  the  Louvre  and 
the  British  Museum.  But  I  had  no  eyes  for  any  of 
these  lesser  marvels,  being  wholly  absorbed  in  the 
greatest  marvel  of  all :  for  there,  in  royal  state  and 
with  mitred  head,  a  living  Egyptian  king,  surrounded 
by  his  coiffured  court,  was  banqueting  in  the  flesh 
upon  a  real  throne,  before  a  table  laden  with  Mem- 
phian  delicacies! 

I  stood  transfixed  with  awe  and  amazement,  my 
tongue  and  my  feet  alike  forgetting  their  ofiice,  and 
my  brain  whirling  round  and  round,  as  I  remember  it 
used  to  whirl  when  my  health  broke  down  utterly  at 
Cambridge  after  the  Classical  Tripos.  I  gazed  fixedly 
at  the  strange  picture  before  me,  taking  in  all  its  de- 
tails in  a  confused  way,  yet  quite  incapable  of  under- 
standing or  realizing  any  part  of  its  true  import.  I 
saw  the  king  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  raised  on  a 
throne  of  granite  inlaid  with  gold  and  ivory  ;  his  head 
crowned  with  the  peaked  cap  of  Rameses,  and  his  curled 
hair  flowing  down  his  shoulders  in  a  set  and  formal 
frizz.  I  saw  priests  and  warriors  on  either  side,  dressed 
in  the  costumes  which  I  had  often  carefully  noted  in 
our  great  collections  ;  while  bronze-skinned  maids,  with- 
light  garments  round  their  waists,  and  limbs  displayed 
in  graceful  picturesqueness,  waited  upon  them,  half 
nude,  as  in  the  wall  paintings  which  we  had  lately  ex- 
amined at  Karnak  and  Syene.     I  saw  the  ladies,  clothed 


MY  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE  AMONG  THE  MUMMIES.      211 

from  head  to  foot  in  dyed  linen  garments,  sitting 
apart  in  the  background,  banqueting  by  themselves  at 
a  separate  table  ;  while  dancing  girls,  like  older  repre- 
sentatives of  my  yesternoon  friends,  the  Ghawdzi, 
tumbled  before  them  in  strange  attitudes,  to  the  music 
of  four-stringed  harps  and  long  straight  pipes.  In 
shoit,  I  beheld  as  in  a  dream  the  whole  drama  of 
everyday  Egyptian  royal  life,  playing  itself  out  anew 
under  my  eyes,  in  its  real  original  properties  and  per- 
sons. 

Gradually,  as  I  looked,  I  became  aware  that  my  hosts 
were  no  less  surprised  at  the  appearance  of  their  an- 
achronistic guest  than  was  the  guest  himself  at  the 
strange  living  panorama  which  met  his  eyes.  In  a  mo- 
ment music  and  dancing  ceased  ;  the  banquet  paused 
in  its  course,  and  the  king  and  his  nobles  stood  up  in  un- 
disguised astonishment  to  survey  the  strange  intruder. 

Some  minutes  passed  before  any  one  moved  forward 
on  either  side.  At  last  a  young  girl  of  royal  appear- 
ance, yet  strangely  resembling  the  Ghdziyah  of  Abu 
Yilla,  and  recalling  in  part  the  laughing  maiden  in  the 
foreground  of  Mr.  Long's  great  canvas  at  the  previous 
Academy,  stepped  out  before  the  throng. 

"  May  I  ask  you,"  she  said  in  Ancient  Egyptian, 
"  who  you  are,  and  why  you  come  hither  to  dis- 
turb us?" 

I  was  never  aware  before  that  I  spoke  or  understood 
the  language  of  the  hieroglyphics  ;  yet  I  found  I  had 
not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  comprehending  or  answer- 
ing her  question.  To  say  the  truth,  Ancient  Egyptian, 
though  an  extremely  tough  tongue  to  decipher  in  its 
written  form,  becomes  as  easy  as  love-making  when 
spoken  by  a  pair  of  lips  like  that  Pharaonic  princess's. 


212  STRANGE  STORIES. 

It  is  really  very  much  the  same  as  Enghsh,  pronounced 
in  a  rapid  and  somewhat  indefinite  whisper,  and  with  all 
the  vowels  left  out. 

•*  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons  for  my  intrusion,"  I 
answered  apologetically  ;  "  but  I  did  not  know  that 
this  Pyramid  was  inhabited,  or  I  should  not  have  en- 
tered your  residence  so  rudely.  As  for  the  points  you 
wish  to  know,  I  am  an  English  tourist,  and  you  will 
find  my  name  upon  this  card  ;"  saying  which  I  handed 
her  one  from  the  case  which  I  had  fortunately  put  into 
my  pocket,  with  conciliatory  politeness.  The  princess 
examined  it  closely,  but  evidently  did  not  understand 
its  import. 

**  In  return,"  I  continued,  "  may  I  ask  you  in  what 
august  presence  I  now  find  myself  by  accident  ?" 

A  court  official  stood  forth  from  the  throng,  and  an- 
swered in  a  set  heraldic  tone  :  *'  In  the  presence  of  the 
illustrious  monarch.  Brother  of  the  Sun,  Thothmes  the 
Twenty-seventh,  king  of  the  Eighteenth  Dynasty." 

"  Salute  the  Lord  of  the  World,"  put  in  another 
official  in  the  same  regulation  drone. 

I  bowed  low  to  his  Majesty,  and  stepped  out  into 
the  hall.  Apparently  my  obeisance  did  not  come  up  to 
Egyptian  standards  of  courtesy,  for  a  suppressed  titter 
broke  audibly  from  the  ranks  of  bronze-skinned  wait- 
ing-women. But  the  king  graciously  smiled  at  my  at- 
tempt, and  turning  to  the  nearest  nobleman,  observed 
in  a  voice  of  great  sweetness  and  self-contained 
majesty :  '*  This  stranger,  Ombos,  is  certainly  a  very 
curious  person.  His  appearance  does  not  at  all  resem- 
ble that  of  an  Ethiopian  or  other  savage,  nor  does  he 
look  like  the  pale-faced  sailors  who  come  to  us  from 
the  Achaian  land  beyond  the  sea.     His  features,  to  be 


MY  NEW  YEAR  S  EVE  AMONG  THE  MUMMIES.      21 3 

sure,  are  not  very  different  from  theirs  ;  but  his  extra- 
ordinary and  singularly  inartistic  dress  shows  him  to 
belong  to  some  other  barbaric  race." 

I  glanced  down  at  my  waistcoat,  and  saw  that  I  was 
wearing  my  tourist's  check  suit,  of  gray  and  mud  color, 
with  which  a  Bond  Street  tailor  had  supplied  me  just 
before  leaving  town,  as  the  latest  thing  out  in  fancy 
tweeds.  Evidently  these  Egyptians  must  have  a  very 
curious  standard  of  taste  not  to  admire  our  pretty  and 
graceful  style  of  male  attire. 

"  If  the  dust  beneath  your  Majesty's  feet  may  ven- 
ture upon  a  suggestion,"  put  in  the  ofHcer  whom  the 
king  had  addressed,  "  I  would  hint  that  this  young 
man  is  probably  a  stray  visitor  from  the  utterly  un- 
civilized lands  of  the  North.  The  headgear  which  he 
carries  in  his  hand  obviously  betrays  an  Arctic  habi- 
tat." 

I  had  instinctively  taken  off  my  round  felt  hat  in 
the  first  moment  of  surprise,  when  I  found  myself  in 
the  midst  of  this  strange  throng,  and  I  standing  now 
in  a  somewhat  embarrassed  posture,  holding  it  awk- 
wardly before  me  like  a  shield  to  protect  my  chest. 

"Let  the  stranger  cover  himself,"  said  the  king. 

"  Barbarian  intruder,  cover  yourself,"  cried  the  her- 
ald. I  noticed  throughout  that  the  king  never  di- 
rectly addressed  anybody  save  the  higher  officials 
around  him. 

I  put  on  my  hat  as  desired.  "  A  most  uncomfort- 
able and  silly  form  of  tiara  indeed,"  said  the  great 
Thothmes. 

"  Very  unlike  your  noble  and  awe-inspiring  mitre, 
Lion  of  Egypt,"  answered  Ombos. 

"  Ask  the  stranger  his  name,"  the  king  continued, 


214  STKANC.E    STORIES. 

It  was  useless  to  offer  another  card,  so  I  mentioned 
it  in  a  clear  voice. 

"  An  uncouth  and  almost  unpronounceable  designa- 
tion truly,"  commented  his  Majesty  to  the  Grand 
Chamberlain  beside  him.  "These  savages  speak 
strange  languages,  widely  different  from  the  flowing 
tongue  of  Memnon  and  Sesostris." 

The  Chamberlain  bowed  his  assent  with  three  low 
genuflexions.  I  began  to  feel  a  little  abashed  at  these 
personal  remarks,  and  I  almost  think  (though  I  shouldn't 
like  it  to  be  mentioned  in  the  Temple)  that  a  blush 
rose  to  my  cheek. 

The  beautiful  princess  who  had  been  standing  near 
me  meanwhile  in  an  attitude  of  statuesque  repose, 
now  appeared  anxious  to  change  the  current  of  the 
conversation.  *'  Dear  father,"  she  said  with  a  respect- 
ful inclination,  "  surely  the  stranger,  barbarian  though 
he  be,  cannot  relish  such  pointed  allusions  to  his  per- 
son and  costume.  We  must  let  him  feel  the  grace  and 
delicacy  of  Egyptian  refinement.  Then  he  may  per- 
haps carry  back  with  him  some  faint  echo  of  its  cul- 
tured beauty  to  his  northern  wilds." 

"Nonsense,  Hatasou,"  replied  Thothmes  XXVII. 
testily.  "  Savages  have  no  feelings,  and  they  are  as 
incapable  of  appreciating  Egyptian  sensibility  as  the 
chattering  crow  is  incapable  of  attaining  the  dignified 
reserve  of  the  sacred  crocodile." 

"Your  Majesty  is  mistaken,"  I  said,  recovering  my 
self-possession  gradually  and  realizing  my  position  as 
a  free-born  Englishman  before  the  court  of  a  foreign 
despot — though  I  must  allow  that  I  felt  rather  less 
confident  than  usual,  owing  to  the  fact  that  wc  were 
not  represented  in  the  Pyramid  by  a  British  Consul— 


MY  NEW  year's  EVE  AMONG  THE  MUMMTES.      21$ 

"  I  am  an  English  tourist,  a  visitor  from  a  modern  land 
"vvhosc  civilization  far  surpasses  the  rude  culture  of 
early  Egypt ;  and  I  am  accustomed  to  respectful  treat- 
ment from  all  other  nationalities,  as  becomes  a  citizen 
of  the  First  Naval  Power  in  the  World." 

My  answer  created  a  profound  impression.  "  He 
has  spoken  to  the  Brother  of  the  Sun,"  cried  Ombos 
in  evident  perturbation.  "  He  must  be  of  the  Blood 
Royal  in  his  own  tribe,  or  he  would  never  have  dared 
to  do  so !" 

"Otherwise,"  added  a  person  whose  dress  I  recog- 
nized as  that  of  a  priest,  '*  he  must  be  offered  up  in 
expiation  to  Amon-Ra  immediately." 

As  a  rule  I  am  a  decently  truthful  person,  but  under 
these  alarming  circumstances  I  ventured  to  tell  a  slight 
fib  with  an  air  of  nonchalant  boldness.  "  I  am  a 
younger  brother  of  our  reigning  king,"  I  said  without 
a  moment's  hesitation  ;  for  there  was  nobody  present 
to  gainsay  me,  and  I  tried  to  salve  my  conscience  by 
reflecting  that  at  any  rate  I  was  only  claiming  con- 
sanguinity with  an  imaginary  personage. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  King  Thothmes,  with  more 
geniality  in  his  tone,  "there  can  be  no  impropriety  in 
my  addressing  you  personally.  Will  you  take  a  place 
at  our  table  next  to  myself,  and  we  can  converse  to- 
gether without  interrupting  a  banquet  which  must 
be  brief  enough  in  any  circumstances  ?  Hatasou,  my 
dear,  you  may  seat  yourself  next  to  the  barbarian 
prince.'' 

I  felt  a  visible  swelling  to  the  proper  dimensions  of 
a  Royal  Highness  as  I  sat  down  by  the  king's  right 
hand.  The  nobles  resumed  their  places,  the  bronze- 
skinned  waitresses  left  off  standing  like  soldiers  in  a 


I  • 


2l6  '  STRANGE   STORIES. 

row  and  staring  straight  at  my  humble  self,  the  goblets 
went  round  once  more,  and  a  comely  maid  soon 
brought  me  meat,  bread,  fruits,  and  date  wine. 

All  this  time  I  was  naturally  burning  with  curiosity 
to  inquire  who  my  strange  hosts  might  be,  and  how 
they  had  preserved  their  existence  for  so  many  cen- 
turies in  this  undiscovered  hall ;  but  I  was  obliged  to 
wait  until  I  had  satisfied  his  Majesty  of  my  own  nation- 
ality, the  means  by  which  I  had  entered  the  Pyramid, 
the  general  state  of  affairs  throughout  the  world  at 
the  present  moment,  and  fifty  thousand  other  matters 
of  a  similar  sort.  Thothmes  utterly  refused  to  believe 
my  reiterated  assertion  that  our  existing  civilization 
was  far  superior  to  the  Egyptian  ;  **  because,'*  said  he, 
"  I  see  from  your  dress  that  your  nation  is  utterly  de- 
void of  taste  or  invention  ;  "  but  he  listened  with  great 
interest  to  my  account  of  modern  society,  the  steam- 
engine,  the  Permissive  Prohibitory  Bill,  the  telegraph, 
the  House  of  Commons,  Home  Rule,  and  the  other 
blessings  of  our  advanced  era,  as  well  as  to  a  brief 
rc'sunn'  oi  European  history  from  the  rise  of  the  Greek 
culture  to  the  Russo-Turkish  war.  At  last  his  ques- 
tions were  nearly  exhausted,  and  I  got  a  chance  of 
making  a  few  counter  inquiries  on  my  own  account. 

*'  And  now,"  I  said,  turning  to  the  charming  Hatasou, 
whom  I  thought  a  more  pleasing  informant  than  her 
august  papa,  "  I  should  like  to  know  \w\\o  you  are." 

"  What,  don't  you  know  ?"  she  cried  with  unaffected 
surprise.     "  Why,  we're  mummies." 

She  made  this  astounding  statement  with  just  the 
same  quiet  unconsciousness  as  if  she  had  said,  "  we're 
French,"  or  "  we're  Americans."  I  glanced  round  the 
walls,  and  observed   behind  the  columns,  what   I  had 


MY  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE  AMONG  THE  MUMMIES      21/ 

not  noticed  till  then — a  large  number  of  empty 
mummy-cases,  with  their  lids  placed  carelessly  by 
their  sides. 

"But  what  are  you  doing  here?"  I  asked  in  a  be- 
wildered way. 

'*  Is  it  possible,"  said  Hatasou,  "  that  you  don't 
really  know  the  object  of  embalming  ?  Though  your 
manners  show  you  to  be  an  agreeable  and  well-bred 
young  man,  you  must  excuse  my  saying  that  you  are 
shockingly  ignorant.  We  arc  made  into  mummies  in 
order  to  preserve  our  immortality.  Once  in  every 
thousand  years  we  wake  up  for  twenty-four  hours,  re- 
cover our  flesh  and  blood,  and  banquet  once  more 
upon  the  mummied  dishes  and  other  good  things  laid 
by  for  us  in  the  Pyramid.  To-day  is  the  first  day  of  a 
millennium,  and  so  we  have  waked  up  for  the  sixth 
time  since  we  were  first  embalmed." 

"  The  sixth  time  ?"  I  inquired,  incredulously.  "  Then 
you  must  have  been  dead  six  thousand  years." 

"  Exactly  so." 

**  But  the  world  has  not  yet  existed  so  long,"  I  cried, 
in  a  fervor  of  orthodox  horror. 

'*  Excuse  me,  barbarian  prince.  This  is  the  first  day 
of  the  three  hundred  and  twenty-seven  thousandth 
millennium." 

My  orthodoxy  received  a  severe  shock.  However, 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  geological  calculations,  and 
was  somewhat  inclined  to  accept  the  antiquity  of  man  ; 
so  I  swallowed  the  statement  without  more  ado. 
Besides,  if  such  a  charming  girl  as  Hatasou  had  asked 
me  at  that  moment  to  turn  Mohammedan,  or  to  wor- 
ship Osiris,  I  believe  I  should  incontinently  have  done 
so. 


,  2l8       "  STRANGE   STORTES. 

"  You  wake  up  only  for  a  single  day  and  night, 
then  ?"  I  said. 

**  Only  for  a  single  day  and  night.  After  that,  we 
go  to  sleep  for  another  millennium." 

**  Unless  you  are  meanwhile  burned  as  fuel  on  the 
Cairo  Railway,"  I  added,  mentally.  "  But  how,"  I 
continued  aloud,  **  do  you  get  these  lights?" 

"  The  Pyramid  is  built  above  a  spring  of  inflamma- 
ble gas.  We  have  a  reservoir  in  one  of  the  side  cham- 
bers, in  which  it  collects  during  the  thousand  years. 
As  soon  as  we  awake,  we  turn  it  on  at  once  from  the 
tap,  and  light  it  with  a  lucifer  match." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  I  interposed,  "  I  had  no  notion 
you  Ancient  Egyptians  were  acquainted  with  the  use 
of  matches." 

"  Very  likely  not.  *  There  are  more  things  in  heaven 
and  earth,  Cephrenes,  than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  phil- 
osophy, as  the  bard  of  Philae  puts  it." 

Further  inquiries  brought  out  all  the  secrets  of  that 
strange  tomb-house,  and  kept  me  fully  interested  till 
the  close  of  the  banquet.  Then  the  chief  priest  sol- 
emnly rose,  offered  a  small  fragment  of  meat  to  a  dei- 
fied crocodile,  who  sat  in  a  meditative  manner  by  the 
side  of  his  deserted  mummy-case,  and  declared  the 
feast  concluded  for  the  night.  All  rose  from  their 
places,  wandered  away  into  the  long  corridors  or  side- 
aisles,  and  formed  little  groups  of  talkers  under  the 
brilliant  gas  lamps. 

For  my  part,  I  strolled  off  with  Hatasou  down  the 
least  illuminated  of  the  colonnades,  and  took  my  seat 
beside  a  marble  fountain,  where  several  fish  (gods  of 
great  sanctity,  Hatasou  assured  me)  were  disporting 
themselves  in  a  porphyry  basin.     How  long  we  sat 


MY  NEW  YEAR  S  KVE  AMONG  THE  MUMMIES.      219 

there  I  cannot  tell,  but  I  know  that  we  talked  a  good 
deal  about  fish,  and  gods,  and  Egyptian  habits,  and 
Egyptian  philosophy,  and,  above  all,  Egyptian  love- 
making.  The  last-named  subject  we  found  very  inter- 
esting, and  when  once  we  got  fully  started  upon  it,  no 
diversion  afterwards  occurred  to  break  the  even  tenor 
of  the  conversation.  Hatasou  was  a  lovely  figure,  tall, 
queenly,  with  smooth  dark  arms  and  neck  of  polished 
bronze  ;  her  big  black  eyes  full  of  tenderness,  and  her 
long  hair  bound  up  into  a  bright  Egyptian  headdress, 
that  harmonized  to  a  tone  with  her  complexion  and 
her  robe.  The  more  we  talked,  the  more  desperately 
did  I  fall  in  love,  and  the  more  utterly  oblivious  did  I 
become  of  my  duty  to  Editha  Fitz-Simkins.  The 
mere  ugly  daughter  of  a  rich  and  vulgar  brand-new 
knight,  forsooth,  to  show  off  her  airs  before  me,  when 
here  was  a  Princess  of  the  Blood  Royal  of  Egypt, 
obviously  sensible  to  the  attentions  which  I  was  paying 
her,  and  not  unwilling  to  receive  them  with  a  coy  and 
modest  grace. 

Well,  I  went  on  saying  pretty  things  to  Hatasou, 
and  Hatasou  went  on  deprecating  them  in  a  pretty 
little  way,  as  who  should  say,  "  I  don't  mean  what  I 
pretend  to  mean  one  bit ";  until  at  last  I  may  confess 
that  we  were  both  evidently  as  far  gone  in  the  disease 
of  the  heart  called  love  as  it  is  possible  for  two  young 
people  on  first  acquaintance  to  become.  Therefore, 
when  Hatasou  pulled  forth  her  watch — another  piece 
of  mechanism  with  which  antiquaries  used  never  to 
credit  the  Egyptian  people — and  declared  that  she 
had  only  three  more  hours  to  live,  at  least  for  the  next 
thousand   years,  I  fairly  broke   down,  took  out  my 


220  STRANGE  STORIES. 

handkerchief,  and  began  to  sob  Hke  a  child  of  five 
years  old. 

Hatasou  was  deeply  moved.  Decorum  forbade  that 
she  should  console  me  with  too  much  emprcssemcnt; 
but  she  ventured  to  remove  the  handkerchief  gently 
from  my  face,  and  suggested  that  there  was  yet  one 
course  open  by  which  we  might  enjoy  a  little  more  of 
one  another's  society.  "Suppose,"  she  said  quietly, 
"  you  were  to  become  a  mummy.  You  would  then 
wake  up,  as  we  do,  every  thousand  years  ;  and  after 
you  have  tried  it  once,  you  will  find  it  just  as  natural 
•to  sleep  for  a  millennium  as  for  eight  hours.  Of 
course,"  she  added  with  a  slight  blush,  "  during  the 
next  three  or  four  solar  cycles  there  would  be  plenty 
of  time  to  conclude  any  other  arrangements  you  might 
possibly  contemplate,  before  the  occurrence  of  another 
glacial  epoch." 

This  mode  of  regarding  time  was  certainly  novel 
and  somewhat  bewildering  to  people  who  ordinarily 
reckon  its  lapse  by  weeks  and  months  ;  and  I  had  a 
vague  consciousness  that  my  relations  with  Editha 
imposed  upon  me  a  moral  necessity  of  returning  to  the 
outer  world,  instead  of  becoming  a  millennial  mummy. 
Besides,  there  was  the  awkward  chance  of  being  con- 
verted into  fuel  and  dissipated  into  space  before  the 
arrival  of  the  next  waking  day.  But  I  took  one  look 
at  Hatasou,  whose  eyes  were  filling  in  turn  with  sym- 
pathetic tears,  and  that  look  decided  me.  I  flung 
Editha,  life,  and  duty  to  the  dogs,  and  resolved  at  once 
to  become  a  mummy. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Only  three  hours 
remained  to  us,  and  the  process  of  embalming,  even  in 
the  most  hasty  manner,  would  take  up  fully  two.    We 


MY  NEW  year's  EVE  AMONG  THE  MUMMIES.      221 

rushed  off  to  the  chief  priest,  who  had  charge  of  the 
particular  department  in  question.  He  at  once  ac- 
ceded to  my  wishes,  and  briefly  explained  the  mode 
in  which  they  usually  treated  the  corpse. 

That  word  suddenly  aroused  me.  "  The  corpse!"  I 
cried;  "but  I  am  alive.   Vou  can't  embalm  me  living." 

"  We  can,"  replied  the  priest,  **  under  chloroform." 

"  Chloroform  !"  I  echoed,  growing  more  and  more 
astonished  :  "  I  had  no  idea  you  Egyptians  knew  any- 
thing about  it." 

"  Ignorant  barbarian  !"  he  answered  with  a  curl  of 
the  lip;  "  you  imagine  yourself  much  wiser  than  the 
teachers  of  the  world.  If  you  were  versed  in  all  the 
wisdom  of  the  Egyptians,  you  would  know  that  chloro- 
form is  one  of  our  simplest  and  commonest  anaes- 
thetics." 

I  put  myself  at  once  under  the  hands  of  the  priest. 
He  brought  out  the  chloroform,  and  placed  it  beneath 
my  nostrils,  as  I  lay  on  a  soft  couch  under  the  central 
court.  Hatasou  held  my  hand  in  hers,  and  watched 
my  breathing  with  an  anxious  eye.  I  saw  the  priest 
leaning  over  me,  with  a  clouded  phial  in  his  hand,  and 
I  experienced  a  vague  sensation  of  smelling  myrrh  and 
spikenard.  Next,  I  lost  myself  for  a  few  moments, 
and  when  I  again  recovered  my  senses  in  a  temporary 
break,  the  priest  was  holding  a  small  greenstone  knife, 
dabbled  with  blood,  and  I  felt  that  a  gash  had  been 
made  across  my  breast.  Then  they  applied  the  chloro- 
form once  more;  I  felt  Hatasou  give  my  hand  a  gentle 
squeeze  ;  the  whole  panorama  faded  finally  from  my 
view  ;  and  I  went  to  sleep  for  a  seemingly  endless  time. 

When  I  awoke  again,  my  first  impression  led  me  to 
believe  that  the  thousand  years  were  over,  and  that  I 


222  STRANGE  STORIES. 

had  come  to  life  once  more  to  feast  with  Hatasou  and 
Thothmcs  in  the  Pyramid  of  Abu  Yilla.  But  second 
thoughts,  combined  with  closer  observation  of  the 
surroundings,  convinced  me  that  I  was  really  lying  in 
a  bedroom  of  Shepheard's  Hotel  at  Cairo.  An  hos- 
pital nurse  leant  over  me,  instead  of  a  chief  priest; 
and  I  noticed  no  tokens  of  Editha  Fitz-Simkins's  pres- 
ence. But  when  I  endeavoured  to  make  inquiries 
upon  the  subject  of  my  whereabouts,  I  was  peremptor- 
ily informed  that  I  mustn't  speak,  as  I  was  only  just 
recovering  from  a  severe  fever,  and  might  endanger 
my  life  by  talking. 

Some  weeks  later  I  learned  the  sequel  of  my  night's 
adventure.  The  Fitz-Simkinses,  missing  me  from  the 
boat  in  the  morning,  at  first  imagined  that  I  might 
have  gone  ashore  for  an  early  stroll.  But  after  break- 
fast time,  lunch  time,  and  dinner  time  had  gone  past, 
they  began  to  grow  alarmed,  and  sent  to  look  for  me 
in  all  directions.  One  of  their  scouts,  happening  to 
pass  the  Pyramid,  noticed  that  one  of  the  stones  near 
the  northeast  angle  had  been  displaced,  so  as  to  give 
access  to  a  dark  passage,  hitherto  unknown.  Calling 
several  of  his  friends,  for  he  was  afraid  to  venture  in 
alone,  he  passed  down  the  corridor,  and  through  a 
second  gateway  into  the  central  hall.  There  the  Fel- 
lahin  found  me,  lying  on  the  ground,  bleeding  pro- 
fusely from  a  wound  on  the  breast,  and  in  an  advanced 
stage  of  malarious  fever.  They  brought  me  back  to 
the  boat,  and  the  Fitz-Simkinses  conveyed  me  at  once 
to  Cairo,  for  medical  attendance  and  proper  nur- 
sing. 

Editha  was  at  first  convinced  that  I  had  attempted 
tp  commit    suicide  because  I  could  not  endure  hav- 


MY  NEW  year's  EVE  AMONG  THE  MUMMIES.     223 

ing  caused  her  pain,  and  she  accordingly  resolved  to 
tend  me  with  the  utmost  care  through  my  illness. 
But  she  found  that  my  delirious  remarks,  besides 
bearing  frequent  reference  to  a  princess,  with  whom 
I  appeared  to  have  been  on  unexpectedly  intimate 
terms,  also  related  very  largely  to  our  casus  belli  itself, 
the  dancing  girls  of  Abu  Yilla.  Even  this  trial  she 
might  have  borne,  setting  down  the  moral  degene- 
racy which  led  me  to  patronize  so  degrading  an  ex- 
hibition as  a  first  symptom  of  my  approaching  mal- 
ady: but  certain  unfortunate  observations,  containing 
pointed  and  by  no  means  flattering  allusions  to  her 
personal  appearance — which  I  contrasted,  much  to 
her  disadvantage,  with  that  of  the  unknown  princess 
— these,  I  say,  were  things  which  she  could  not  for- 
give ;  and  she  left  Cairo  abruptly  with  her  parents 
for  the  Riviera,  leaving  behind  a  stinging  note,  in 
which  she  denounced  my  perfidy  and  empty-heart- 
edness  with  all  the  flowers  of  feminine  eloquence. 
From  that  day  to  this  I  have  never  seen  her. 

When  I  returned  to  London  and  proposed  to  lay 
this  account  before  the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  all 
my  friends  dissuaded  me  on  the  ground  of  its  ap- 
parent incredibility.  They  declare  that  I  must  have 
gone  to  the  Pyramid  already  in  a  state  of  delirium,  dis- 
covered the  entrance  by  accident,  and  sunk  exhausted 
when  I  reached  the  inner  chamber.  In  answer,  I 
would  point  out  three  facts.  In  the  first  place,  I  un- 
doubtedly found  my  way  into  the  unknown  passage — 
for  which  achievement  I  afterwards  received  the  gold 
medal  of  the  Sioci^te  Kh^diviale,  and  of  which  I  retain 
a  clear  recollection,  differing  in  no  way  from  my  recol- 
lection of  the  subsequent  events.    In  the  second  place, 


224  STRANGE  STORIES. 

I  had  in  my  pocket,  when  found,  a  ring-  of  Hatasou*s, 
which  I  drew  from  her  finger  just  before  I  took  the 
chloroform,  and  put  into  my  pocket  as  a  keepsake. 
And  in  the  third  place,  I  had  on  my  breast  the 
wound  which  I  saw  the  priest  inflict  with  a  knife  of 
greenstone,  and  the  scar  may  be  seen  on  the  spot  to 
the  present  day.  The  absurd  hypothesis  of  my 
medical  friends,  that  I  was  wounded  by  falling  against 
a  sharp  edge  of  rock,  I  must  at  once  reject  as  un- 
worthy a  moment's  consideration. 

My  own  theory  is  either  that  the  priest  had  not  time 
to  complete  the  operation,  or  else  that  the  arrival  of 
the  Fit2  "iimkins's  scouts  frightened  back  the  mummies 
to  their  cases  an  hour  or  so  too  soon.  At  any  rate, 
there  they  all  were,  ranged  around  the  walls  undis- 
turbed, the  moment  the  Fellahin  entered. 

Unfortunately,  the  truth  of  my  account  cannot  be 
tested  for  another  thousand  years.  But  as  a  copy  of 
this  book  will  be  preserved  for  the  benefit  of  posterity 
in  the  British  Museum,  I  hereby  solemnly  call  upon 
Collective  Humanity  to  try  the  veracity  of  this  history 
by  sending  a  deputation  of  archaeologists  to  the  Pyra- 
mid of  Abu  Yilla,  on  the  last  day  of  December,  Two 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  seventy-seven.  If  they 
do  not  then  find  Thothmes  and  Hatasou  feasting  in 
the  central  hall  exactly  as  I  have  described,  I  shall 
willingly  admit  that  the  story  of  my  New  Year's  Eve 
among  the  mummies  is  a  vain  hallucination,  unworthy 
of  credence  at  the  hands  of  the  scientific  world. 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THE 
''FORTUNA/' 


I. 

I  AM  going  to  spin  you  the  yarn  of  the  foundering 
of  the  Fortuna  exactly  as  an  old  lake  captain  on  a 
Huron  steamer  once  span  it  for  me  by  Great  Mani- 
toulin  Island.  It  is  a  strange  and  a  weird  story  ;  and 
if  I  can't  give  you  the  dialect  in  which  he  told  it,  you 
must  forgive  an  English  tongue  its  native  accent  for 
the  sake  of  the  curious  Yankee  tale  that  underlies  it. 

Captain  Montague  Beresford  Pierpoint  was  hardly 
the  sort  of  man  you  would  have  expected  to  find 
behind  the  counter  of  a  small  shanty  bank  at  Aylmer's 
Pike,  Colorado.  There  was  an  engaging  English  frank- 
ness, an  obvious  honesty  and  refinement  of  manner 
about  him,  which  suited  very  oddly  with  the  rough 
habits,  and  rougher  western  speech  of  the  mining 
population  in  whose  midst  he  lived.  And  yet  Captain 
Pierpoint  had  succeeded  in  gaining  the  confidence  and 
respect  of  those  strange  outcasts  of  civilization  by 
some  indescribable  charm  of  address  and  some  invis- 
ible talisman  of  quiet  good  fellowship,  which  caused 
him  to  be  more  universally  believed  in  than  any  other 
man  whatsoever  at  Aylmer's  Pike.  Indeed,  to  say  so 
much  is  rather  to  underrate  the  uniqueness  of  his  posi- 
tion ;  for  it  might  perhaps  be  truer  to  say  that  Captain 

[225] 


226  STRANGE   STORIES. 

Pierpoint  was  the  only  man  in  the  place  in  whom  any- 
one believed  at  all  in  any  way.  He  was  an  honest- 
spoken,  quiet,  unobtrusive  sort  of  man,  who  walked 
about  fearlessly  without  a  revolver,  and  never  gambled 
either  in  mining  shares  or  at  poker  ;  so  that,  to  the 
simple-minded,  unsophisticated  rogues  and  vagabonds 
of  Aylmer's  Pike,  he  seemed  the  very  incarnation  of 
incorruptible  commercial  honor.  They  would  have 
trusted  all  their  earnings  and  winnings  without  hesita- 
tion to  Captain  Pierpoint's  bare  word  ;  and  when  they 
did  so,  they  knew  that  Captain  Pierpoint  had  always 
had  the  money  forthcoming  on  demand,  without  a 
moment's  delay  or  a  single  prevarication. 

Captain  Pierpoint  walked  very  straight  and  erect,  as 
becomes  a  man  of  conspicuous  uprightness  ;  and  there 
was  a  certain  tinge  of  military  bearing  m  his  manner 
which  seemed  at  first  sight  sufficiently  to  justify  his 
popular  title.  But  he  himself  made  no  false  pre- 
tences upon  that  head,  he  freely  acknowledged  that 
he  had  acquired  the  position  of  captain,  not  in  her 
Britannic  Majesty's  Guards,  as  the  gossip  of  Aylmer's 
Pike  sometimes  asserted,  but  in  the  course  of  his 
earlier  professional  engagements  as  skipper  of  a  Lake 
Superior  grain-vessel.  Though  he  hinted  at  times  that 
he  was  by  no  means  distantly  connected  with  the 
three  distinguished  families  whose  names  he  bore,  he 
did  not  attempt  to  exalt  his  rank  or  birth  unduly,  ad- 
mitting that  he  was  only  a  Canadian  sailor  by  trade, 
thrown  by  a  series  of  singular  circumstances  into  the 
position  of  a  Colorado  banker.  The  one  thing  he 
really  understood,  he  would  tell  his  mining  friends, 
was  the  grain-trade  on  the  upper  lakes  ;  for  finance  he 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THE   "  FORTUNA."        22/ 

had  but  a  single  recommendation,  and  that  was  that  if 
people  trusted  him  he  could  never  deceive  them. 

If  any  man  had  set  up  a  bank  in  Aylmer's  Point 
with  an  iron  strong-room,  a  lot  of  electric  bells,  and  an 
obtrusive  display  of  firearms  and  weapons,  it  is  toler- 
ably certain  that  that  bank  would  have  been  promptly 
robbed  and  gutted  within  its  first  week  of  existence 
by  open  violence.  Five  or  six  of  the  boys  would  have 
banded  themselves  together  into  a  body  of  housebreak- 
ers, and  would  have  shot  down  the  banker  and  burst 
into  his  strong-room,  without  thought  of  the  electric 
bells  or  other  feeble  recourses  of  civilization  to  that  end 
appointed.  But  when  a  quiet,  unobtrusive,  brave  man, 
like  Captain  Montague  Pierpoint,  settled  himself  in  a 
shanty  in  their  midst,  and  won  their  confidence  by  his 
straightforward  honesty,  scarcely  a  miner  in  the  lot 
would  ever  have  dreamt  of  attempting  to  rob  him. 
Captain  Pierpoint  had  not  come  to  Aylmer's  Pike  at 
first  with  any  settled  idea  of  making  himself  the  finan- 
cier of  the  rough  little  community;  he  intended  to  dig 
on  his  own  account,  and  the  role  of  banker  was  only 
slowly  thrust  upon  him  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  the 
whole  diggings.  He  had  begun  by  lending  men 
money  out  of  his  own  pocket — men  who  were  unlucky 
in  their  claims,  men  who  had  lost  everything  at  monte, 
men  who  had  come  penniless  to  the  Pike,  and  expected 
to  find  silver  growing  freely  and  openly  on  the  sur- 
face. He  had  lent  to  them  in  a  friendly  way,  without 
interest,  and  had  been  forced  to  accept  a  small  pres- 
ent, in  addition  to  the  sum  advanced,  when  the  tide 
began  to  turn,  and  luck  at  last  led  the  penniless  ones 
to  a  remunerative  placer  or  pocket.  Gradually  the 
diggers  got  into  the  habit  of  regarding  this  as  Captain 


',  ■' 


228  STRANGE  STORIES. 

Pierpoint's  natural  function,  and  Captain  Pierpoint, 
being  himself  but  an  indifferent  digger,  acquiesced  so 
readily  that  at  last,  yielding  to  the  persuasion  of  his 
clients,  he  put  up  a  wooden  counter,  and  painted  over 
his  rough  door  the  magnificent  notice,  "  Aylmer's  Pike 
Bank  :  Montague  Pierpoint,  Manager."  He  got  a  large 
iron  safe  from  Carson  City,  and  in  that  safe  which 
stood  by  his  own  bedside,  all  the  silver  and  other 
securities  of  the  whole  village  were  duly  deposited. 
"  Any  one  of  the  boys  could  easily  shoot  me  and  open 
that  safe  any  night,"  Captain  Pierpoint  used  to  say 
pleasantly  ;  "  but  if  he  did,  by  George  !  he'd  have  to 
reckon  afterwards  with  every  man  on  the  Pike  ;  and  I 
should  be  sorry  to  stand  in  his  shoes — that  I  would, 
any  time."  Indeed,  the  entire  Pike  looked  upon  Cap- 
tain Pierpoint's  safe  as  "  Our  Bank  :"  and,  united  in  a 
single  front  by  that  simple  social  contract,  they  agreed 
to  respect  the  safe  as  a  sacred  object,  protected  by  the 
collective  guarantee  of  three  hundred  mutually  sus- 
picious revolver  bearing  outcasts. 

However,  even  at  Aylmer's  Pike,  there  were  degrees 
and  stages  of  comparative  unscrupulousncss.  Two 
men,  newcomers  to  the  Pike,  by  name  Hiram  Cofifin  and 
Pete  Morris,  at  last  wickedly  and  feloniously  conspired 
together  to  rob  Captain  Pierpoint's  bank.  Their  plan 
was  simplicity  itself.  They  would  go  at  midnight, 
very  quietly,  to  the  Captain's  house,  cut  his  throat  as 
he  slept,  rob  the  precious  safe,  and  ride  off  straight  for 
the  east,  thus  getting  a  clear  night's  start  of  any  possi 
ble  pursuer.  It  was  an  easy  enough  thing  to  do  ;  and 
they  were  really  surprised  in  their  own  minds  that 
nobody  else  had  ever  been  cute  enough  to  seize  upon 


THE  FOUNDERING   OF  THE   "  FORTUNA."        229 

such  an  obvious  and  excellent  path  to  wealth  and 
security. 

The  day  before  the  night  the  two  burglars  had  fixed 
upon  for  their  enterprise,  Captain  Pierpoint  himself 
appeared  to  be  in  unusual  spirits.  Pete  Morris  called 
in  at  the  bank  during  the  course  of  the  morning,  to 
reconnoitre  the  premises,  under  pretence  of  paying  in 
a  few  dollars*  worth  of  silver,  and  he  found  the  Cap- 
tain very  lively  indeed.  When  Pete  handed  him  the 
silver  across  the  counter,  the  Captain  weighed  it  with 
a  smile,  gave  a  receipt  for  the  amount — he  always 
gave  receipts  as  a  matter  of  form — and  actually  invited 
Pete  into  the  little  back  room,  which  was  at  once 
kitchen,  bedroom,  and  parlor,  to  have  a  drink.  Then, 
before  Pete's  very  eyes,  he  opened  the  safe,  bursting 
with  papers,  and  placed  the  silver  in  a  bag  on  a  shelf 
by  itself,  sticking  the  key  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
*'  He  is  delivering  himself  up  into  our  hands,"  thought 
Pete  to  himself,  as  the  Captain  poured  out  two  glasses 
of  old  Bourbon,  and  handed  one  to  the  miner  opposite. 
"  Here's  success  to  all  our  enterprises  !"  cried  the  Cap- 
tain gayly.  "  Here's  success,  pard  !"  Pete  answered, 
with  a  sinister  look,  which  even  the  Captain  could  not 
help  noting  in  a  sidelong  fashion. 

That  night,  about  two  o'clock,  when  all  Aylmer's 
Pike  was  quietly  dreaming  its  own  sordid,  drunken 
dreams,  two  sober  men  rose  up  from  their  cabin  and 
stole  out  softly  to  the  wooden  bank  house.  Two 
horses  were  ready  saddled  with  Mexican  saddle-bags, 
and  tied  to  a  tree  outside  the  digging,  and  in  half  an 
hour  Pete  and  Hiram  hoped  to  find  themselves  in  full 
possession  of  all  Captain  Pierpoint's  securities,  and 
well  on  their  road  towards  the  nearest  station  of  the 


230  STRANGE   STORIES. 

Pacific  Railway.  They  groped  along  to  the  door  o£ 
the  bank  shanty,  and  began  fumbling  with  their  wire 
picks  at  the  rough  lock.  After  a  moment's  explora- 
tion of  the  wards,  Pete  Morris  drew    back  in  surprise. 

"  Pard/*  he  murmured  in  a  low  whisper,  "  here's 
suthin'  rather  extraordinary ;  this  'ere  lock's  not 
fastened." 

They  turned  the  handle  gently,  and  found  that  the 
door  opened  without  an  effort.  Both  men  looked  at 
one  another  in  the  dim  light  incredulously.  Was 
there  ever  such  a  simple,  trustful  fool  as  that  fellow 
Pierpoint !  He  actually  slept  in  the  bank  shanty  with 
his  outer  door  unfastened  ! 

The  two  robbers  passed  through  the  outer  room  and 
into  the  little  back  bedroom-parlor.  Hiram  held  the 
dark  lantern,  and  turned  it  full  on  to  the  bed.  To 
their  immense  astonishment  they  found  it  empty. 

Their  first  impulse  was  to  suppose  that  the  Captain 
had  somehow  anticipated  their  coming,  and  had  gone 
out  to  rouse  the  boys.  For  a  moment  they  almost 
contemplated  running  away,  without  the  money.  But 
a  second  glance  reassured  them  ;  the  bed  had  not 
been  slept  in.  The  Captain  was  a  man  of  very  regular 
habits.  He  made  his  bed  in  civilized  fashion  every 
morning  after  breakfast,  and  he  retired  every  evening 
at  a  little  after  eleven.  Where  he  could  be  stopping 
so  late  they  couldn't  imagine.  But  they  hadn't  come 
there  to  make  a  study  of  the  Captain's  personal  habits, 
and,  as  he  was  away,  the  best  thing  they  could  do  was 
to  open  the  safe  immediately,  before  he  came  back. 
They  weren't  particular  about  murder,  Pete  and 
Hiram  ;  still,  if  you  could  do  your  robbery  without 
bloodshed,  it  was  certainly  all  the  better  to  do  it  so. 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THE   "  FORTUNA.  23 1 

Hiram  held  the  lantern,  carefully  shaded  by  his 
hand,  towards  the  door  of  the  safe.  Pete  looked  cau- 
tiously at  the  lock,  and  began  pushing  it  about  with 
his  wire  pick  ;  he  had  hoped  to  get  the  key  out  of 
Captain  Pierpoint's  pocket,  but  as  that  easy  scheme 
was  so  unexpectedly  foiled,  he  trusted  to  his  skill  in 
picking  to  force  the  lock  open.  Once  more  a  fresh 
surprise  awaited  him.  The  door  opened  almost  of  its 
own  accord  !  Pete  looked  at  Hiram,  and  Hiram  looked 
at  Pete.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  strange  fact  that 
met  their  gaze — the  safe  was  empty  ! 

**  What  on  airth  do  you  suppose  is  the  meaning  of 
this,  Pete?"  Hiram  whispered,  hoarsely.  But  Pete  did 
not  whisper ;  the  whole  truth  flashed  upon  him  in  a 
moment,  and  he  answered  aloud,  with  a  string  of 
oaths : 

"  The  Cap'n  has  gone  and  made  tracks  hisself  for 
Madison  Depot.  And  he's  taken  every  red  cent  in  the 
safe  along  with  him,  too !  the  mean,  low,  dirty  scoun- 
drel !  He's  taken  even  my  silver  that  he  give  me  a 
receipt  for  this  very  morning  !" 

Hiram  stared  at  Pete  in  blank  amazement.  That 
such  base  treachery  could  exist  on  earth  almost  sur- 
passed his  powers  of  comprehension ;  he  could  un- 
derstand that  a  man  should  rob  and  murder,  simply 
and  naturally,  as  he  was  prepared  to  do,  out  of  pure, 
guileless  depravity  of  heart,  but  that  a  man  should 
plan  and  plot  for  a  couple  of  years  to  impose  upon  the 
simplicity  of  a  dishonest  community  by  a  consistent 
show  of  respectability,  with  the  ultimate  object  of  steal- 
ing its  whole  wealth  at  one  fell  swoop,  was  scarcely 
within  the  limits  of  his  narrow  intelligence.     He  stared 


232  ■  STRANGE   STORIES. 

blankly  at  the  empty  safe,  and  whispered  once  more 
to  Pete  in  a.timid  undertone  : 

"  Perhaps  he's  got  wind  of  this,  and  took  off  the 
plate  to  somebody  else's  hut.  If  the  boys  was  to  come 
and  catch  us  here,  it  'ud  be  derned  awkward  for  you 
an'  me,  Pete." 

But  Pete  answered  grufifly  and  loudly  : 

"  Never  you  mind  about  the  plate,  pard.  The 
Cap'n's  gone,  and  the  plate's  gone  with  him ;  and 
what  we've  got  to  do  now  is  to  rouse  the  boys  and 
ride  after  him  like  greased  lightnin'.  The  mean 
swindler,  to  go  and  swindle  me  out  of  the  silver  that 
I've  been  and  dug  out  of  that  there  claim  yonder  with 
my  own  pick !" 

For  the  sense  of  personal  injustice  to  one's  self  rises 
perennially  in  the  human  breust,  however  depraved, 
and  the  man  who  would  murder  another  without  a 
scruple  is  always  genuinely  aghast  with  just  indigna- 
tion when  he  finds  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution 
pressing  a  point  against  him  with  what  seems  to  him 
unfair  persistency. 

Pete  flung  his  lock-pick  out  among  the  agave  scrub 
that  faced  the  bank  shanty  and  ran  out  wildly  into  the 
midst  of  the  dusty  white  road  that  led  down  the  row 
of  huts  which  the  people  of  Aylmer's  Pike  euphemis- 
tically described  as  the  Main  Street.  There  he  raised 
such  an  unearthly  whoop  as  roused  the  sleepers  in 
the  nearest  huts  to  turn  over  in  their  beds  and  listen 
in  wonder,  with  the  vague  idea  that  "the  injuns " 
were  coming  down  on  a  scalping-trail  upon  the  dig- 
gings. Next,  he  hurried  down  the  street,  beating 
heavily  with  his  fist  on  every  frame  door,  and  kicking 
hard  at  the  log  walls  of  the  successive  shanties.     In  a 


\ 


THE  FOUNDERING   OF  THE   "  FORTUNA."        233 

few  minutes  the  whole  Pike  was  out  and  alive.  Un- 
wholesome-looking men,  in  unwashed  flannel  shirts 
and  loose  trousers,  mostly  barefooted  in  their  haste, 
came  forth  to  inquire,  with  an  unnecessary  wealth  of 
expletives,  what  the  something  was  stirring.  Pete, 
breathless  and  wrathful  in  the  midst,  livid  with  rage 
and  disappointment,  could  only  shriek  aloud,  "  Cap'n 
Pierpoint  has  cleared  out  of  camp,  and  taken  all  the 
plate  with  him  !" 

There  was  at  first  an  incredulous  shouting  and  cry- 
ing ;  then  a  general  stampede  toward  the  bank  shanty ; 
and,  finally,  as  the  truth  became  apparent  to  every- 
body, a  deep  and  angry  howl  for  vengeance  on  the  trai- 
tor. In  one  moment  Captain  Pierpoint's  smooth-faced 
villainy  dawned  as  clear  as  day  to  all  Aylmer's  Fike ; 
and  the  whole  chorus  of  gamblers,  rascals,  and  black- 
legs stood  awe-struck  with  horror  and  indignation  at 
the  more  plausible  rogue  who  had  succeeded  in  swin- 
dling even  them.  The  clean-washed,  white-shirted,  fair- 
spoken  villain  !  they  would  have  his  blood  for  this,  if 
the  United  States  Marshal  had  every  mother's  son  of 
them  strung  up  in  a  row  for  it  after  the  pesky  business 
was  once  fairly  over. 

Nobody  inquired  how  Pete  and  Hiram  came  by  the 
news.  Nobody  asked  how  they  had  happened  to 
notice  that  the  shanty  was  empty  and  the  safe  rifled. 
All  they  thought  of  was  how  to  catch  and  punish  the 
public  robber.  He  must  have  made  for  the  nearest 
depot,  Madison  Clearing,  on  the  Union  Pacific  Line, 
and  he  would  take  the  first  cars  east  for  St.  Louis — 
that  was  certain.  Every  horse  in  the  Pike  was 
promptly  requisitioned  by  the  fastest  riders,  and  a 
rough   cavalcade,  revolvers   in  hand,  made  down  the 


234  STRANGE   STORIES. 

gulch  and  across  the  plain,  full  tilt  to  Madison.  But 
when,  in  the  garish  blaze  of  early  morning,  they 
reached  the  white  wooden  depot  in  the  valley  and 
asked  the  ticket-clerk  whether  a  man  answering  to  their 
description  had  gone  on  by  the  east  mail  at  4:30,  the 
ticket-clerk  swore,  in  reply,  that  not  a  soul  had  left  the 
depot  by  any  train  either  way  that  blessed  night. 
Pete  Morris  proposed  to  hold  a  revolver  to  his  head 
and  force  him  to  confess.  But  even  that  strong  meas- 
ure failed  to  induce  a  satisfactory  retractation.  By 
way  of  general  precaution,  two  of  the  boys  went  on  by 
the  day  train  to  St.  Louis,  but  neither  of  them  could 
hear  anything  of  Captain  Pierpoint.  Indeed,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  the  late  manager  and  present  appropriator 
of  the  Aylmer's  Pike  Bank  had  simply  turned  his 
horse's  head  in  the  opposite  direction,  toward  the 
further  station  at  Cheyenne  Gap,  and  had  gone  west- 
ward to  San  Francisco,  intending  to  make  his  way 
back  to  New  York  vid  Panama  and  the  Isthmus  Rail- 
way. 

When  the  boys  really  understood  that  they  had  been 
completely  duped,  they  swore  vengeance  in  solemn 
fashion,  and  they  picked  out  two  of  themselves  to 
carry  out  the  oath  in  a  regular  assembly.  Each  con- 
tributed of  his  substance  what  he  was  able  ;  and  Pete 
and  Hiram,  being  more  stirred  with  righteous  wrath 
than  all  the  rest  put  together,  were  unanimously  de- 
puted to  follow  the  Captain's  tracks  to  San  Francisco, 
and  to  have  his  life  wherever  and  whenever  they  might 
chance  to  find  him.  Pete  and  Hiram  accepted  the 
task  thrust  upon  them,  con  amore,  and  went  forth  zeal- 
ously to  hunt  up  the  doomed  life  of  Captain  Montague 
Beresford  Pierpoint. 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THE  "  FORTUNA."        235 


II. 

Society  in  Sarnia  admitted  that  Captain  Pierpoint 
was  really  quite  an  acquisition.  An  English  gentle- 
man by  birth,  well  educated,  and  of  pleasant  manners, 
he  had  made  a  little  money  out  west  by  mining,  it  was 
understood,  and  had  now  retired  to  the  City  of  Sarnia, 
in  the  Province  of  Ontario  and  Dominion  of  Canada, 
to  increase  it  by  a  quiet  bit  of  speculative  grain  trad- 
ing. He  had  been  in  the  grain  trade  already,  and  peo- 
ple on  the  lake  remembered  him  well ;  for  Captain 
Pierpoint,  in  his  honest,  straightforward  fashion,  dis- 
dained the  vulgar  trickiness  of  an  alias,  and  bore 
throughout  the  string  of  names  which  he  had  originally 
received  from  his  godfathers  and  godmothers  at  his 
baptism.  A  thorough  good  fellow  Captain  Pierpoint 
had  been  at  Aylmer's  Pike  ;  a  perfect  gentleman  he 
was  at  Sarnia.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  indeed,  the  Cap- 
tain was  decently  well-born,  the  son  of  an  English 
country  clergyman,  educated  at  a  respectable  grammar 
school,  and  capable  of  being  all  things  to  all  men  in 
whatever  station  of  life  it  might  please  Providence  to 
place  him.  Society  at  Sarnia  had  no  prejudice  against 
the  grain  trade  ;  if  it  had,  the  prejudice  would  have 
been  distinctly  self-regarding,  for  everybody  in  the  lit- 
tle town  did  something  in  grain ;  and  if  Captain  Pier- 
point chose  sometimes  to  navigate  his  own  vessels, 
that  was  a  fad  which  struck  nobody  as  out  of  the  way 
in  an  easy-going,  money-getting,  Canadian  city. 

Somehow  or  other,  everything  seemed  to  go  wrong 
with  Captain  Pierpoint's  cargoes.     He  was  always  los- 


236  STRANGE   STORIES. 

ing  a  scow  laden  with  best  fall  wheat  from  Chicago 
for  Buffalo ;  or  running  a  lumber  vessel  ashore  on  the 
shoals  of  Lake  Erie  ;  or  getting  a  four-master  jammed 
in  the  ice  packs  on  the  St.  Clair  river  and  though  the 
insurance  companies  continually  declared  that  Captain 
Pierpoint  had  got  the  better  of  them,  the  Captain  him- 
self was  wont  to  complain  that  no  insurance  could 
ever  possibly  cover  the  losses  he  sustained  by  the  care- 
lessness of  his  subordinates  or  the  constant  perversity 
of  wind  and  waters.  He  was  obliged  to  take  his  own 
ships  down,  he  would  have  it,  because  nobody  else 
could  take  them  safely  for  him  ;  and  though  he  met 
with  quite  as  many  accidents  himself  as  many  of  his 
deputies  did,  he  continued  to  convey  his  grain  in  per- 
son, hoping,  as  he  said,  that  luck  would  turn  some 
day,  and  that  a  good  speculation  would  finally  enable 
him  honorably  to  retrieve  his  shattered  fortunes. 

However  this  might  be,  it  happened  curiously 
enough  that  in  spite  of  all  his  losses,  Captain  Pier- 
point  seemed  to  grow  richer  and  richer,  visibly  to  the 
naked  eye,  with  each  reverse  of  his  trading  efforts. 
He  took  a  handsome  house,  set  up  a  carriage  and  pair, 
and  made  love  to  the  prettiest  and  sweetest  girl  in 
all  Sarnia.  The  prettiest  and  sweetest  girl  was  not 
proof  against  Captain  Pierpoint's  suave  tongue  and 
handsome  house ;  and  she  married  him  in  very  good 
faith,  honestly  believing  in  him  as  a  good  woman  will 
in  a  scoundrel,  and  clinging  to  him  fervently  with  all 
her  heart  and  soul.  No  happier  and  more  loving  pair 
in  all  Sarnia  than  Captain  and  Mrs.  Pierpoint. 

Some  months  after  the  marriage.  Captain  Pierpoint 
arranged  to  take  down  a  scow  or  flat-bottomed  boat, 
laden  with  grain,  from  Milwaukee  for  the  Erie  Canal. 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THB  "  FORTUNA."       237 

He  took  up  the  scow  himself,  and  before  he  started 
for  the  voyage,  it  was  a  curious  fact  that  he  went  in 
person  down  into  the  hold,  bored  eight  laige  holes 
right  through  the  bottom,  and  filled  each  up,  as  he  drew 
out  the  auger,  with  a  caulked  plug  made  exactly  to  fit 
it,  and  hammered  firmly  into  place  with  a  wooden  mal- 
let. There  was  a  ring  in  each  plug,  by  which  it  could 
be  pulled  out  again  without  much  difficulty  ;  and  the 
whole  eight  were  all  placed  along  the  gangway  of  the 
hold,  where  no  cargo  would  lie  on  top  of  them.  The 
scow's  name  was  the  Fortuna  :  "  sit  faustum  omen  et 
felix,"  murmured  Captain  Pierpoint  to  himself ;  for 
among  his  other  accomplishments  he  had  not  wholly 
neglected  nor  entirely  forgotten  the  classical  lan- 
guages. 

It  took  only  two  men  and  the  ikipper  to  navigate 
the  scow ;  for  lake  craft  towed  by  steam  propellers  are 
always  very  lightly  manned :  and  when  Captain  Pier- 
point  reached  Milwaukee,  where  he  was  to  take  in 
cargo,  he  dismissed  the  two  sailors  who  had  come 
with  him  from  Sarnia  and  engaged  two  fresh  hands  at 
the  harbor.  Rough,  miner-looking  men  they  were, 
with  very  little  of  the  sailor  about  them  ;  but  Captain 
Pierpoint's  sharp  eye  soon  told  him  they  were  the 
right  sort  of  men  for  his  purpose,  and  he  engaged 
them  on  the  spot,  without  a  moment's  hesitation.  Pete 
and  Hiram  had  had  some  difficulty  in  tracking  him, 
for  they  never  thought  he  would  return  to  the  lakes, 
but  they  had  tracked  him  at  last,  and  were  ready  now 
to  take  their  revenge. 

They  had  disguised  themselves  as  well  as  they  were 
able,  and  in  their  clumsy  knavery  they  thought  they 
had  completely  deceived  the  Captain.     But   almost 


238  STRANGE  STORIES. 

from  the  moment  the  Captain  saw  them,  he  knew  who 
they  were,  and  he  took  his  measures  accordingly. 
"  Stupid  louts,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  the  line  con- 
tempt of  an  educated  scoundrel  for  the  unsophisticated 
natural  ruffian  ;  *'  here's  a  fine  chance  of  killing  two 
birds  with  one  stone !"  And  when  the  Captain  said 
the  word  "  killing,"  he  said  it  in  his  own  mind  with  a 
delicate,  sinister  emphasis  which  meant  business. 

The  scow  was  duly  loaded,  and  with  a  heavy  cargo 
of  grain  aboard,  she  proceeded  to  make  her  way 
slowly,  by  the  aid  of  a  tug,  out  of  Milwaukee  Harbor. 

As  soon  as  she  was  once  clear  of  the  wharf,  and 
while  the  busy  shipping  of  the  great  port  still  sur- 
rounded them  on  every  side,  Captain  Pierpoint  calmly 
drew  his  revolver,  and  took  his  stand  beside  the 
hatches.  "  Pete  and  Hiram,"  he  said,  quietly,  to  his 
two  assistants,  "  I  want  to  have  a  little  serious  talk 
with  you  two  before  we  go  any  further." 

If  he  had  fired  upon  them  outright,  instead  of  m^erely 
calling  them  by  their  own  names,  the  two  common 
conspirators  could  not  have  started  more  unfeignedly, 
or  looked  more  unspeakably  cowed,  than  they  did  at 
that  moment.  Their  first  impulse  was  to  draw  their 
own  revolvers  in  return  ;  but  they  saw  in  a  second 
that  the  Captain  was  beforehand  with  them,  and  that 
they  had  better  not  try  to  shoot  him  before  the  very 
eyes  of  all  Milwaukee. 

"  Now,  boys,"  the  Captain  went  on  steadily,  with 
his  finger  on  the  trigger,  and  his  eye  fixed  straight  on 
the  men's  faces,  "  we  three  quite  understand  one 
another.  I  took  your  savings  for  reasons  of  my  own  ; 
and  you  h-.  ^e  shipped  here  to-day  to  murder  me  on  the 
voyage.     Lat  I  recognized  you  before  I  engaged  you  ; 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THE  "  FORTUNA."        239 

and  I  have  left  word  at  Milwaukee  that  if  anything 
happens  to  me  on  this  journey,  you  two  have  a  grudge 
against  me,  and  must  be  hanged  for  it.  I've  taken  care 
that  if  this  scow  comes  into  any  port  along  the  lakes 
without  me  aboard,  you  two  are  to  be  promptly 
arrested."  (This  was  false,  of  course  ;  but  to  Captain 
Pierpoint  a  small  matter  like  that  was  a  mere  trifle.) 
"  And  I've  shipped  myself  along  with  you,  just  to  show 
you  I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  But  if  either  of  you  dis- 
obeys my  orders  in  anything  for  one  minute,  I  shoot  at 
once,  and  no  jury  in  Canada  or  the  States  will  touch  a 
hair  of  my  head  for  doing  it.  I'm  a  respectable  ship- 
owner and  grain  merchant ;  you're  a  pair  of  disreput- 
able, skulking  miners,  pretending  to  be  sailors,  and 
you've  shipped  aboard  here  on  purpose  to  murder  and 
rob  me.  If  you  shoot  mc,  it's  murder  ;  if  /  shoot  you, 
it's  justifiable  homicide.  Now,  boys,  do  you  under- 
stand that  ?" 

Pete  looked  at  Hiram,  and  was  beginning  to  speak, 
when  the  Captain  interrupted  him  in  the  calm  tone  of 
one  having  authority.  "  Look  here,  Pete,"  he  said, 
drawing  a  chalk  line  amidships  across  the  deck  ;  **  you 
stand  this  side  of  that  line,  and  you  stand  there,  Hiram. 
Now,  mind,  if  either  of  you  chooses  to  step  across  that 
line  or  to  confer  with  the  other,  I  shoot  you,  whether 
it's  here  before  all  the  eyes  in  Milwaukee,  or  alone  in 
the  middle  of  Huron.  You  must  each  take  your  own 
counsel,  and  do  as  you  like  for  yourselves.  But  I've 
got  a  little  plan  of  my  own  on,  and  if  you  choose  will- 
ingly to  help  me  in  it,  your  fortune's  made.  Look  at 
the  thing,  squarely,  boys  ;  what's  the  use  of  your  kill- 
ing me?  Sooner  or  later  you'll  get  hung  for  it,  and  it's 
a  very  unpleasant  thing,  I  can  assure  you,  hanging." 


240  STRANGE   STORIES. 

As  the  Captain  spoke,  he  placed  his  unoccupied  hand 
loosely  on  his  throat,  and  pressed  it  gently  backward. 
Pete  and  Hiram  shuddered  a  little  as  he  did  so. 
"  Well,  what's  the  good  of  ending  your  lives  that  way, 
eh  ?  But  I'm  doing  a  little  speculative  business  on 
these  lakes,  where  I  want  just  such  a  couple  of  men  as 
you  two — men  that'll  do  as  they're  told  in  a  matter  of 
business  and  ask  no  squeamish  questions.  If  you  care 
to  help  me  in  this  business,  stop  and  make  your 
fortunes ;  if  you  don't,  you  can  go  back  to  Milwaukee 
with  the  tug." 

"  You  speak  fair  enough,"  said  Pete,  dubitatively  ; 
"  but  you  know,  Cap'n,  you  ain't  a  man  to  be  trusted. 
I  owe  you  one  already  for  stealing  my  silver." 

"  Very  little  silver,"  the  Captain  answered,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand  and  a  graceful  smile.  "  Bonds, 
United  States  bonds  and  greenbacks  most  of  it,  con- 
verted beforehand  for  easier  conveyance  by  horseback. 
These,  however,  are  business  details  which  needn't 
stand  in  the  way  between  you  and  me,  partner.  I 
always  was  straightforward  in  all  my  dealings,  and  I'll 
come  to  the  point  at  once,  so  that  you  can  know 
whether  you'll  help  me  or  not.  This  scow's  plugged 
at  bottom.  My  intention  is,  first,  to  part  the  rope  that 
ties  us  to  the  tug  ;  next,  to  transfer  the  cargo  by  night 
to  a  small  shanty  I've  got  on  Manitoulin  Island  ;  and 
then  to  pull  the  plugs  and  sink  the  scow  on  Manitou- 
lin rocks.  That  way  I  get  insurance  for  the  cargo  and 
scow,  and  carry  on  the  grain  in  the  slack  season.  If 
you  consent  to  help  me  unload  and  sink  the  ship,  you 
shall  have  half  profits  between  you  ;  if  you  don't,  you 
.:an  go  back  to  Milwaukee  like  a  couple  of  fools,  and 
I'll  put  into  port  again  to  get  a  couple  of  pluckier  fel- 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THE  "  FORTUNA."        24I 

lows.  Answer  each  for  yourselves.  Hiram,  will  you 
go  with  me  ?" 

"  How  shall  I  know  you'll  keep  your  promise  ?" 
asked  Hiram. 

"  For  the  best  of  all  possible  reasons,"  replied  the 
Captain,  jauntily ;  "  because,  if  I  don't,  you  can  in- 
form upon  me  to  the  insurance  people." 

In  Hiram  Coffin's  sordid  soul  there  was  a  moment's 
turning  over  of  the  chances ;  and  then  greed  prevailed 
over  revenge,  and  he  said,  grudgingly  : 

"Well,  Cap'n,  I'll  go  with  you." 

The  Captain  smiled  the  smile  of  calm  self-approba- 
tion, and  turned  half  round  to  Pete. 

"  And  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  If  Hiram  goes,  I  go  too,"  Pete  answered,  half  hop- 
ing that  some  chance  might  occur  for  conferring  with 
his  neighbor  on  the  road,  and  following  out  their  orig- 
inal conspiracy.  But  Captain  Pierpoint  had  been  too 
much  for  him  ;  he  had  followed  the  excellent  rule 
''^  divide  et  impcra,"  and  he  remained  clearly  master  of 
the  situation. 

As  soon  as  they  were  well  outside  Milwaukee  Har- 
bor, the  tug  dragged  the.i*  into  the  open  lake,  all  un- 
conscious of  the  strange  scene  that  had  passed  on  the 
deck  so  close  to  it ;  and  the  oddly  mated  crew  made 
its  way,  practically  alone,  down  the  busy  waters  of 
Lake  Michigan. 

Captain  Pierpoint  certainly  didn't  spend  a  comforta- 
ble time  during  his  voyage  down  the  lake,  or  through 
the  Straits  of  Mackinaw.  To  say  the  truth,  he  could 
hardly  sleep  at  all,  and  he  was  very  fagged  and  weary 
when  they  arrived  at  Manitoulin  Island.  But  Pete 
and  Hiram,  though  they  had  many  chances  of  talking 


242  STRANGE  STORIES. 

together,  could  not  see  their  way  to  kill  him  in 
safety  ;  and  Hiram,  at  least,  in  his  own  mind,  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  better  to  make  a 
little  money  than  to  risk  one's  neck  for  a  foolish  re- 
venge. So  in  the  dead  of  night,  on  the  second  day 
out,  when  a  rough  wind  had  risen  from  the  north,  and 
a  fog  had  come  over  them,  the  Captain  quietly  began 
to  cut  away  at  the  rope  that  tied  them  to  the  tug. 
He  cut  the  rope  all  round,  leaving  a  sound  core  in  the 
centre  ;  and  when  the  next  gust  of  wind  came,  the 
rope  strained  and  parted  quite  naturally,  so  that  the 
people  on  the  tug  never  suspected  the  genuineness  of 
the  transaction.  They  looked  about  in  the  fog  and 
storm  for  the  scow,  but  of  course  they  couldn't  find  her, 
for  Captain  Pierpoint,  who  knew  his  ground  well,  had 
driven  her  straight  ashore  before  the  wind  and  beached 
her  on  a  small  shelving  cove  on  Manitoulin  Island. 
There  they  found  five  men  waiting  for  them,  who 
helped  unload  the  cargo  with  startling  rapidity,  for  it 
was  all  arranged  in  sacks,  not  in  bulk,  and  a  high  slide 
fixed  on  the  gangway  enabled  them  to  slip  it  quickly 
down  into  an  underground  granary  excavated  below 
the  level  of  the  beach.  After  unloading,  they  made 
their  way  down  before  the  breeze  towards  the  jagged 
rocks  of  Manitoulin. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  on  a  stormy  moonlight  night, 
when  the  Fortuna  arrived  off  the  jutting  point  of  the 
great  island.  A  "black  squall,"  as  they  call  it  on  the 
lakes,  was  blowing  down  from  the  Sault  Ste.  Marie. 
The  scow  drove  about  aimlessly,  under  very  little  can- 
vas, and  the  boat  was  ready  to  be  lowered,  "  in  case," 
the  Captain  said,  humorously,  "  of  any  accident." 
Close  to  the  end  of  the  point  the  Captain  ordered  Pete 


The  foundering  of  the  "  fortuna.'*      24^ 

and  Hiram  down  into  the  hold.  He  had  shown  them 
beforehand  the  way  to  draw  the  plugs,  and  had  ex- 
plained that  the  water  would  rise  very  slowly,  and 
they  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  get  up  the  com- 
panion-ladder long  before  there  was  a  foot  deep  of 
water  in  the  hold.  At  the  last  moment  Pete  hung 
back  a  little.  The  Captain  took  him  quietly  by  the 
shoulders,  and  without  an  oath  (an  omission  which 
told  eloquently  on  Pete)  thrust  him  down  the  ladder, 
and  told  him  in  his  calmest  manner  to  do  his  duty. 
Hiram  held  the  light  in  his  hand,  and  both  went  down 
together  into  the  black  abyss.  There  was  no  time  to 
be  lost;  they  were  well  off  the  point,  and  in  another 
moment  the  wreck  v/ould  have  lost  all  show  of  reason- 
able probability. 

As  the  two  miners  went  down  into  the  hold,  Captain 
Pierpoint  drew  quietly  from  his  pocket  a  large  ham- 
mer and  a  packet  of  five-inch  nails.  They  were  good 
stout  nails,  and  would  resist  a  considerable  pressure. 
He  looked  carefully  down  into  the  hold,  and  saw  the 
two  men  draw  the  first  plug.  One  after  another  he 
watched  them  till  the  fourth  was  drawn,  and  then  he 
turned  away,  and  took  one  of  the  nails  firmly  between 
his  thumb  and  forefinger. 

Next  week  everybody  at  Sarnia  was  grieved  to  hear 
that  another  of  Captain  Pierpoint's  vessels  had  gone 
down  off  Manitoulin  Point  in  that  dreadful  black  squall 
on  Thursday  evening.  Both  the  sailors  on  board  had 
been  drowned,  but  the  Captain  himself  had  managed 
to  make  good  his  escape  in  the  jolly  boat.  He  would 
be  a  heavy  loser,  it  was  understood,  on  the  value  of 
the  cargo,  for  insurance  never  covers  the  loss  of 
grain. 


244  STRANGE  STORIKS. 

Still,  it  was  a  fortunate  thing  that  such  a  delightful 
man  as  the  Captain  had  not  perished  in  the  foundering 
of  the  Fortuna. 


III. 


Somehow,  after  that  wreck.  Captain  Pierpoint 
never  cared  for  the  water  again.  His  nerves  were 
shattered,  he  said,  and  he  couldn't  stand  danger  as  he 
used  to  do  when  he  was  younger  and  stronger.  So  he 
went  on  the  lake  no  more,  and  confined  his  attention 
more  strictly  to  the  "  futures  "  business.  He  was  a 
thriving  and  prosperous  person,  in  spite  of  his  losses ; 
and  the  underwriters  had  begun  to  look  a  little  askance 
at  his  insurances  even  before  this  late  foundering  case. 
Some  whispered  ominously  in  underwriting  circles  that 
they  had  their  doubts  about  the  Fortu?ia. 

One  summer,  a  few  years  later,  the  water  on  Lake 
Huron  sank  lower  than  it  had  ever  been  known  to 
sink  before.  It  was  a  very  dry  season  in  the  back 
country,  and  the  rivers  brought  down  very  diminished 
streams  into  the  great  basins.  Foot  by  foot,  the  level 
of  the  lake  fell  slowly,  till  many  of  the  wharves  were  left 
high  and  dry,  and  the  vessels  could  only  come  along- 
side in  very  few  deep  places.  Captain  Pierpoint  had  suf- 
fered much  from  sleeplessness,  combined  with  Canadian 
ague,  for  some  years  past,  but  this  particular  summer 
his  mind  was  very  evidently  much  troubled.  For 
some  unaccountable  reason,  he  watched  the  falling  of 
the  river  with  the  intensest  anxiety,  and  after  it  had 
passed  a  certain  point,  his  interest  in  the  question  be- 
came painfully  keen.  Though  the  fever  and  the  ague 
gained    upon   him  from  day  to  day,  and   his  doctor 


THE   FOUNDERING  OF  THE  "FORTUNA."        245 

counseled  perfect  quiet,  he  was  perpetually  consulting 
charts  and  making  measurements  of  the  configuration 
which  the  coast  had  now  reached,  especially  at  the 
upper  end  of  Lake  Huron.  At  last,  his  mind  seemed 
almost  to  give  way,  and  weak  and  feverish  as  he  was, 
he  insisted,  the  first  time  for  many  seasons,  that  he 
must  take  a  trip  upon  the  water.  Remonstrance  was 
quite  useless  ;  he  would  go  on  the  lake  again,  he  said, 
if  it  killed  him.  So  he  hired  one  of  the  little  steam 
pleasure  yachts  which  are  always  to  let  in  numbers  at 
Detroit,  and  started  with  his  wife  and  her  brother, 
a  young  surgeon,  for  a  month's  cruise  into  Lake 
Superior. 

As  the  yacht  neared  Manitoulin-Island,  Captain  Pier- 
point  insisted  upon  being  brought  up  on  deck  in  a 
chair — he  was  too  ill  to  stand — and  swept  all  the  coast 
with  his  binocular.  Close  to  the  point,  a  flat-topped 
object  lay  mouldering  in  the  sun,  half  out  of  water,  on 
the  shoals  by  the  bank.  "  What  is  it,  Ernest  ?"  asked 
the  Captain,  trembling,  of  his  brother-in-law. 

**  A  wreck,  I  should  say,"  the  brother-in-law  an- 
swered, carelessly.  "  By  Jove,  now  I  look  at  it  with  the 
glass,  I  can  read  the  name,  *  Fortuna,  Sarnia.' " 

Captain  Pierpoint  seized  the  glass  with  a  shaking 
hand,  and  read  the  name  on  the  stern  himself,  in  a 
dazed  fashion.  "Take  me  downstairs,"  he  said, 
feebly,  "  and  let  me  die  quietly ;  and  for  Heaven's 
sake,  Ernest,  never  let  her  know  about  it  all." 

They  took  him  downstairs  into  the  little  cabin,  and 
gave  him  quinine  ;  but  he  called  for  brandy.  They 
let  him  have  it,  and  he  drank  a  glassful.  Then  he 
lay  down,  and  the  shivering  seized  him  ;  and  with  his 
wife's  hand  in  his,  he  died   that  night  in   raving  de- 


I 


246  STRANGE   STORIES. 

lirium,  about  eleven.  A  black  squall  was  blowing 
down  from  the  Sault  Ste.  Marie  :  and  they  lay  at 
anchor  out  in  the  lake,  tossing  and  pitching,  oppo- 
site the  green  mouldering  hull  of  the  Fortmia. 

They  took  him  back  and  buried  him  at  Sarnia  ; 
and  all  the  world  went  to  attend  his  funeral,  as  of  a 
man  who  died  justly  respected  for  his  wealth  and  other 
socially  admired  qualities.  But  the  brother-in-law 
knew  there  was  a  mystery  somewhere  in  the  wreck  of 
the  Fortuna  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over,  he 
went  back  with  the  yacht,  and  took  its  skipper  with 
him  to  examine  the  stranded  vessel.  When  they  came 
to  look  at  the  bottom,  they  found  eight  holes  in  it. 
Six  of  them  were  wide  open  ;  one  was  still  plugged, 
and  the  remaining  one  had  the  plug  pulled  half  out, 
inward,  as  if  the  persons  who  were  pulling  it  had 
abandoned  the  attempt  for  the  fear  of  the  rising  water. 
That  was  bad  enough,  and  they  did  not  wonder  that 
Captain  Pierpoint  had  shrunk  in  horror  from  the  re- 
vealing of  the  secret  of  the  Fortuna. 

But  when  they  scrambled  on  the  deck,  they  discov- 
ered another  fact  which  gave  a  more  terrible  meaning 
to  the  dead  man's  tragedy.  The  covering  of  the 
hatchway  by  the  companion-ladder  was  battened 
down,  and  nailed  from  the  side  with  five-inch  nails.  The 
skipper  loosened  the  rusty  iron  with  his  knife,  and  after 
a  while  they  lifted  the  lid  off,  and  descended  carefully 
into  the  empty  hold  below.  As  they  suspected,  there 
was  no  damaged  grain  in  it ;  but  at  the  foot  of  the  com- 
panion-ladder, left  behind  by  the  retreating  water,  two 
half-cleaned  skeletons  in  sailor  clothes  lay  huddled  to- 
gether loosely  on  the  floor.  That  was  all  that  re- 
mained of  Pete  and  Hiram.     Evidently  the  Captair^ 


THE  FOUNDERING  OF  THE   "  FORTUNA."        247 

had  nailed  the  hatch  down  on  top  of  them,  and  left 
them  there  terror-stricken  to  drown  as  the  water 
rushed  in  and  rose  around  them. 

For  a  while  the  skipper  and  the  brother-in-law  kept 
the  dead  man's  secret ;  but  they  did  not  try  to  destroy 
or  conceal  the  proofs  of  his  guilt,  and  in  time  others 
visited  the  wreck,  till,  bit  by  bit,  the  horrible  story 
leaked  out  in  its  entirety.  Nowadays,  as  you  pass 
the  Great  Manitoulin  Island,  every  sailor  on  the  lake 
route  is  ready  to  tell  you  this  strange  and  ghastly 
yarn  of  the  foundering  of  the  Foriuna. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN 

PICCADILLY. 
I. 

I  REALLY  never  felt  so  profoundly  ashamed  of  my- 
self in  my  whole  life  as  when  my  father-in-law,  Pro- 
fessor W.  Bryce  Murray,  of  Oriel  College,  Oxford,  sent 
me  the  last  number  of  the  Proceedings  of  the  Society 
for  the  Investigation  of  Supernatural  Phenomena.  As 
I  opened  the  pamphlet,  a  horrible  foreboding  seized 
me  that  I  should  find  in  it,  detailed  at  full  length,  with 
my  name  and  address  in  plain  printing  (not  even  aster- 
isks), that  extraordinary  story  of  his  about  the  mys- 
terious occurrence  in  Piccadilly.  I  turned  anxiously 
to  page  14,  which  I  saw  was  neatly  folded  over  at  the 
corner;  and  there,  sure  enough,  I  came  upon  the  Pro- 
fessor's remarkable  narrative,  which  I  shall  simply 
extract  here,  by  way  of  introduction,  in  his  own  ad- 
mirable and  perspicuous  language. 

*•'  I  wish  to  communicate  to  the  Society,"  says  my 
respected  relation,  "  a  curious  case  of  wraiths  or 
doubles,  which  came  under  my  own  personal  observa- 
tion, and  for  which  I  can  vouch  on  my  own  authority, 
and  that  of  my  son-in-law.  Dr.  Owen  Mansfield,  keeper 
of  Accadian  Antiquities  at  the  British  Museum.  It  is 
seldom,  indeed,  that  so  strange  an  example  of  a  super- 
natural phenomenon  can  be  independently  attested  by 
two  trustworthy  scientific  observers,  both  still  living. 
[248] 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  TICCADILLY.   249 

"On  the  1 2th  of  May,  1873 — I  made  a  note  of  the 
circumstance  at  the  time,  and  am  therefore  able  to 
feel  perfect  confidence  as  to  the  strict  accuracy  of  my 
facts — I  was  walking  down  Piccadilly  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  I  saw  a  simulacrum  or 
image  approaching  me  from  the  opposite  direction, 
exactly  resembling  in  outer  appearance  an  under- 
graduate of  Oriel  College,  of  the  name  of  Owen 
Mansfield.  It  must  be  carefully  borne  in  mind  that 
at  this  time  I  was  not  related  or  connected  with  Mr. 
Mansfield  in  any  way,  his  marriage  with  my  daughter 
having  taken  place  some  eleven  months  later :  I  only 
knew  him  then  as  a  promising  junior  member  of  my 
own  College.  I  was  just  about  to  approach  and 
address  Mr.  Mansfield,  when  a  most  singular  and 
mysterious  event  took  place.  The  simulacrum 
appeared  spontaneously  to  glide  up  towards  me  with 
a  peculiarly  rapid  and  noiseless  motion,  waved  a  wand 
or  staff  which  it  bore  in  its  hands  thrice  round  my 
head,  and  then  vanished  hastily  in  the  direction  of  an 
hotel  which  stands  at  the  corner  of  Albemarle  Street. 
I  followed  it  quickly  to  the  door,  but  on  inquiry  of 
the  porter,  I  learned  that  he  himself  had  observed 
nobody  enter.  The  simulacrum  seems  to  have  dis- 
sipated itself  or  become  invisible  suddenly  in  the  very 
act  of  passing  through  the  folding  glass  portals  which 
give  access  to  the  hotel  from  Piccadilly. 

"  That  same  evening  by  the  last  post,  I  received  a 
hastily-written  note  from  Mr.  Mansfield,  bearing  the 
Oxford  postmark,  dated  Oriel  College,  5  p.m.,  and 
relating  the  facts  of  an  exactly  similar  apparition 
which  had  manifested  itself  to  him,  with  absolute 
simultaneity    of    occurrence.      On  the  very  day  and 


250  STRANGE   STORIES. 

hour  when  I  had  seen  Mr.  M.inficld's  wraith  in 
Piccadilly,  Mr.  Mansfield  himself  was  walking  down 
the  Corn  Market  in  Oxford,  in  the  direction  of 
the  Taylor  Institute.  As  he  approached  the  cor- 
ner, he  saw  what  he  took  to  be  a  vision  or  image  of 
myself,  his  tutor,  moving  towards  him  in  my  usual 
leisurely  manner.  Suddenly,  as  he  was  on  the  point 
of  addressing  me  with  regard  to  my  Aristotle  lecture 
the  next  morning,  the  image  glided  up  to  him  in  a 
rapid  and  evasive  manner,  shook  a  green  silk  umbrella 
with  a  rhinoceros-horn  handle  three  times  around  his 
head,  and  then  disappeared  incomprehensibly  through 
the  door  of  the  Randolph  Hotel.  Returning  to  the 
college  in  a  state  of  breathless  alarm  and  surprise,  at 
what  he  took  to  be  an  act  of  incipient  insanity  or 
extreme  inebriation  on  my  part,  Mr.  Mansfield  learnt 
from  the  porter,  to  his  intense  astonishment,  that  I 
was  at  that  moment  actually  in  London.  Unable  to 
conceal  his  amazement  at  this  strange  event,  he  wrote 
me  a  full  account  of  the  facts  while  they  were  still 
fresh  in  his  memory:  and  as  I  preserve  his  note  to 
this  day,  I  append  a  copy  of  it  to  my  present  communi- 
cation, for  publication  in  the  Society's  Transactions. 

"  There  is  one  small  point  in  the  above  narrative  to 
which  I  would  wish  to  call  special  attention,  and  that 
is  the  accurate  description  given  by  Mr.  Mansfield  of 
the  umbrella  carried  by  the  apparition  he  observed  in 
Oxford.  This  umbrella  exactly  coincided  in  every 
particular  with  the  one  I  was  then  actually  carrying  in 
Piccadilly.  But  what  is  truly  remarkable,  and  what 
stamps  the  occurrence  as  a  genuine  case  of  supernat- 
ural intervention,  is  the  fact  that  Mr.  Mansfield  could 
not  possibly  ever  hc^ve  seen  that  umbrella  in  my  hands 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  PICCADILLY.    2$  I 

because  /  had  only  Just  that  afternoon  purchased  it  at 
a  shop  in  Bond  Street.  This,  to  my  mind,  conclusively 
proves  that  no  mere  effort  of  fancy  or  visual  delusion 
based  upon  previous  memories,  vague  or  conscious, 
could  have  had  anything  whatsoever  to  do  with  Mr. 
Mansfield's  observation  at  least.  It  was,  in  short,  dis- 
tinctly an  objective  apparition,  as  distinguished  from  a 
mere  subjective  reminiscence  or  hallucination." 

As  I  laid  down  the  Proceedings  on  the  breakfast 
table  with  a  sigh,  I  said  to  my  wife  (who  had  been 
looking  over  my  shoulder  while  I  read) :  '*  Now,  Nora, 
we're  really  in  for  it.  What  on  earth  do  you  suppose 
I'd  better  do  ?" 

Nora  laughed  at  me  with  her  laughing  eyes  laugh- 
ing harder  and  brighter  than  ever.  "  My  dear  Owen," 
she  said,  putting  the  Proceedings  promptly  into  the 
waste-paper  basket,  "  there's  really  nothing  on  earth 
possible  now,  except  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 

I  groaned.  "  I  suppose  you're  right,"  I  answered, 
"  but  it's  a  precious  awkward  thing  to  have  to  do. 
However,  here  goes."  So  I  sat  down  at  once  with 
pen,  ink,  and  paper  at  my  desk,  to  draw  up  this  pres- 
ent narrative  as  to  the  real  facts  about  the  "  Mysteri- 
ous Occurrence  in  Piccadilly." 


II. 

In  1873  I  was  a  fourth-year  man,  going  in  for  my 
Greats  at  the  June  examination.  But  as  if  Aristotle 
and  Mill  and  the  affair  of  Corcyra  were  not  enough  to 
occupy  one  voung  fellow's  head  at  the  age  of  twenty- 


252  STRANGE   STORIES. 

three,  I  had  foolishly  gone  and  fallen  in  love,  under- 
graduate fashion,  with  the  only  really  pretty  girl  (I  in- 
sist upon  putting  it,  though  Nora  has  struck  it  out 
with  her  pen)  in  all  Oxford.  She  was  the  daughter  of 
my  tutor.  Professor  Bryce  Murray,  and  her  name  (as 
the  astute  reader  will  already  have  inferred)  was 
Nora. 

The  Professor  had  lost  his  wife  some  years  before, 
and  he  was  left  to  bring  up  Nora  by  his  own  devices, 
with  the  aid  of  his  sister,  Miss  Lydia  Amelia  Murray, 
the  well-known  advocate  of  female  education,  woman's 
rights,  anti-vaccination,  vegetarianism,  the  Tichborne 
claimant,  and  psychic  force.  Nora,  however,  had  no 
fancy  for  any  of  these  multifarious  interests  of  her 
aunt's  :  I  have  reason  to  believe  she  takes  rather  after 
her  mother's  family:  and  Miss  Lydia  Amelia  Murray 
early  decided  that  she  was  a  girl  of  no  intellectual 
tastes  of  any  sort,  who  had  better  be  kept  at  school  at 
South  Kensington  as  much  as  possible.  Especially 
did  Aunt  Lydia  hold  it  to  be  undesirable  that  Nora 
should  ever  come  in  contact  with  that  very  objection- 
able and  wholly  antagonistic  animal,  the  Oriel  under- 
graduate. Undergraduates  were  well  known  to  laugh 
openly  at  woman's  rights,  to  devour  underdone  beef- 
steaks with  savage  persistence,  and  to  utter  most  irrev- 
erent and  ribald  jests  about  psychic  force. 

Still,  it  is  quite  impossible  to  keep  the  orbit  of  a 
Professor's  daughter  from  occasionally  crossing  that 
of  a  stray  meteoric  undergraduate.  Nora  only  came 
home  to  Oxford  in  vacation  time  :  but  during  the 
preceding  Long  I  had  stopped  up  for  the  sake  of  pur- 
suing my  Accadian  studies  in  a  quiet  spot,  and  it  was 
then  that  I  first  quite  accidentally  met  Nora.     I  was 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  PICCADILLY.  253 

canoeing  on  the  Cherwell  one  afternoon,  when  I  came 
across  the  Professor  and  his  daughter  in  a  punt,  and 
saw  the  prettiest  girl  in  all  Oxford  actually  holding  the 
pole  in  her  own  pretty  little  hands,  while  that  lazy  old 
man  lolled  back  at  his  ease  with  a  book,  on  the  lux- 
urious cushions  in  the  stern.  As  I  passed  the  punt,  I 
capped  the  Professor,  of  course,  and  looking  back  a 
minute  later  I  observed  that  the  pretty  daughter  had 
got  her  pole  stuck  fast  in  the  mud,  and  couldn't  with 
all  her  force,  pull  it  out  again.  In  another  minute  she 
had  lost  her  hold  of  it,  and  the  punt  began  to  drift  of 
itself  down  the  river  towards  Iffley. 

Common  politeness  naturally  made  me  put  back  my 
canoe,  extricate  the  pole,  and  hand  it  as  gracefully  as 
I  could  to  the  Professor's  daughter.  As  I  did  so  I 
attempted  to  raise  my  straw  hat  cautiously  with  one 
hand,  while  I  gave  back  the  pole  with  the  other:  an 
attempt  which  of  course  compelled  me  to  lay  down 
my  paddle  on  the  front  of  the  canoe,  as  I  happen  to 
be  only  provided  with  two  hands,  instead  of  four 
like  our  earlier  ancestors.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was 
my  instantaneous  admiration  for  Nora's  pretty  blush, 
which  distracted  my  attention  from  the  purely  practi- 
cal question  of  equilibrium,  or  whether  it  was  her  own 
awkwardness  and  modesty  in  taking  the  pole,  or  finally 
whether  it  was  my  tutor's  freezing  look  that  utterly 
disconcerted  me,  but  at  any  rate,  just  at  that  moment, 
something  unluckily  (or  rather  luckily)  caused  me  to 
lose  my  balance  altogether.  Now,  everybody  knows 
that  a  canoe  is  very  easily  upset :  and  in  a  moment, 
before  I  knew  exactly  where  I  was,  I  found  the  canoe 
floating  bottom  upward  about  three  yards  away  from 
me,  and  myself  standing,  safe  and  dry,  in  my  tutor's 


2^4  STRANGE  STORIES. 

punt,  beside  his  pretty  blushing  daughter.  I  had  felt 
the  canoe  turning  over  as  I  handed  back  the  pole,  and 
had  instinctively  jumped  into  the  safer  refuge  of  the 
punt,  which  saved  me  at  least  the  ignominy  of  appear 
ing  before  Miss  Nora  Murray  in  the  ungraceful  atti- 
tude of  clambering  back,  wet  and  dripping,  into  an 
upset  canoe. 

The  inexorable  logic  of  facts  had  thus  convinced 
the  Professor  of  the  impossibility  of  keeping  all  under- 
graduates permanently  at  a  safe  distance  :  and  there 
was  nothing  open  for  him  now  except  resignedly  to 
acquiesce  in  the  situation  so  created  for  him.  However 
much  he  might  object  to  my  presence,  he  could  hardly, 
as  a  Christian  and  a  gentleman,  request  me  to  jump  in 
and  swim  after  my  canoe,  or  even,  when  we  had  at 
last  successfully  brought  it  alongside  w^ith  the  aid  of 
the  pole,  to  seat  myself  once  more  on  the  soaking 
cushions.  After  all,  my  mishap  had  come  about  in  the 
endeavor  to  render  him  a  service  :  so  he  was  fain 
with  what  grace  he  could  to  let  me  relieve  his  daugh- 
ter of  the  pole,  and  punt  him  back  as  far  as  the  barges, 
with  my  own  moist  and  uncomfortable  bark  trailing 
casually  from  the  stern. 

As  for  Nora,  being  thus  thrown  unexpectedly  into 
the  dangerous  society  of  that  grewsome  animal,  the 
Oriel  undergraduate,  I  think  I  may  venture  to  say  (from 
my  subsequent  experience)  that  she  was  not  wholly  dis- 
posed to  regard  the  creature  as  either  so  objectiona- 
ble or  so  ferocious  as  she  had  been  previously  led  to 
imagine.  We  got  on  together  so  well  that  I  could  see 
the  Professor  growing  visibly  wrathful  about  the 
corners  of  the  mouth  :  and  by  the  time  we  reached  the 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  PICCADILLY.   255 

barges,  he  could  barely  be  civil  enough  to  say  Good- 
morning  to  me  when  we  parted. 

"  An  introduction,  however,  no  matter  how  obtained, 
is  really  in  these  matters  absolutely  everything.  As 
long  as  you  don't  know  a  pretty  girl,  you  don't  know 
her,  and  you  can't  take  a  step  in  advance  without  an 
introduction.  But  when  once  you  do  know  her,  heav- 
en and  earth  and  aunts  and  fathers  may  try  their  hard- 
est to  prevent  you,  and  yet  whatever  they  try  they  can't 
keep  you  out.  I  was  so  far  struck  with  Nora,  that  I 
boldly  ventured  whenever  I  met  her  out  walking  with 
her  father  or  her  aunt,  to  join  myself  to  the  party  ; 
and  though  they  never  hesitated  to  show  me  that  my 
presence  was  not  rapturously  welcomed,  they  couldn't 
well  say  to  me  pointblank,  '*  Have  the  goodness,  Mr. 
Mansfield,  to  go  away  and  not  to  speak  to  me  again 
in  future."  So  the  end  of  it  was,  that  before  the 
beginning  of  October  term,  Nora  and  I  understood 
one  another  perfectly,  and  had  even  managed,  in  a  few 
minutes'  tcte-a-tcte  in  the  parks,  to  whisper  to  one  an- 
other the  ingenuous  vows  of  sweet  seventeen  and  two- 
and-twenty. 

When  the  Professor  discovered  that  I  had  actually 
written  a  letter  to  his  daughter,  marked  "  Private  and 
Confidential,"  his  wrath  knew  no  bounds.  He  sent 
for  me  to  his  rooms,  and  spoke  to  me  severely.  "  I've 
half  a  mind,  Mansfield,"  he  said,  *'  to  bring  the  matter 
before  a  college  meeting.  At  any  rate,  this  conduct 
must  not  be  repeated.  If  it  is,  Sir," — he  didn't  finish 
the  sentence,  preferring  to  terrify  me  by  the  effective 
figure  of  speech  which  commentators  describe  as  an 
aposiopesis:  and  I  left  him  with  a  vague  sense  that  if 
it  was  repeated  I  should  probably  incur  the  penalties 


:  N<  •   • 


256  STRANGE  STORIES. 

of  prcemunire  (whatever  they  may  be)  or  be  hanged, 
drawn,  and  quartered,  with  my  head  finally  stuck  as 
an  adornment  on  the  acute  wings  of  the  Griffin,  vice 
Temple  Bar  removed. 

Next  day,  Nora  met  me  casually  at  a  confectioner's 
in  the  High,  where  I  will  frankly  confess  that  I  was 
engaged  in  experimenting  upon  the  relative  merits  of 
raspberry  cream  and  lemon  water  ices.  She  gave  me 
her  hand  timidly,  and  whispered  to  me  half  under  her 
breath,  "  Papa's  so  dreadfully  angry,  Owen,  and  I'm 
afraid  I  shall  never  be  able  to  meet  you  any  more,  for 
he's  going  to  send  me  back  this  very  afternoon  to 
South  Kensington,  and  keep  me  away  from  Oxford 
altogether  in  future."  I  saw  her  eyes  were  red  with 
crying,  and  that  she  really  thought  our  little  romance 
was  entirely  at  an  end. 

"  My  darling  Nora,"  I  replied  in  an  undertone, 
"  even  South  Kensington  is  not  so  unutterably  remote 
that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  see  you  there.  Write  to 
me  whenever  you  are  able,  and  let  me  know  where  I 
can  write  to  you.  My  dear  little  Nora,  if  there  were 
a  hundred  papas  and  a  thousand  Aunt  Lydias  inter- 
posed in  a  square  between  us,  don't  you  know  we 
should  manage  all  the  same  to  love  one  another  and 
to  overcome  all  difficulties  ?" 

Nora  smiled  and  half  cried  at  once,  and  then  dis- 
creetly turned  to  order  half  a  pound  of  glacd  cherries. 
And  that  was  the  last  that  I  saw  of  her  for  the  time  at 
Oxford. 

During  the  next  term  or  two,  I'm  afraid  I  must  admit 
that  the  relations  between  my  tutor  and  myself  were 
distinctly  strained,  so  much  so  as  continually  to 
threaten    the    breaking   out   of    open   hostilities.     It 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  PICCADILLY.   2$/ 

wasn't  merely  that  Nora  was  in  question,  but  the  Pro- 
fessor also  suspected  me  of  jeering  in  private  at  his 
psychical  investigations.  And  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  I  will  admit  that  his  suspicions  were  not  wholly 
without  justification.  It  began  to  be  whispered 
among^  the  undergraduates  just  then  that  the  Professor 
and  his  sister  had  taken  to  turning  planchctics,  inter- 
rogating easy-chairs,  and  obtaining  interesting  details 
about  the  present  abode  of  Shakespeare  or  Milton 
from  intelligent  and  well-informed  five-o'clock  tea- 
tables.  It  had  long  been  well  known  that  the  Profes- 
sor took  a  deep  interest  in  haunted  houses,  considered 
that  the  portents  recorded  by  Livy  must  have  some- 
thing in  them,  and  declared  himself  unable  to  be  skep- 
tical as  to  facts  which  had  convinced  such  great  men 
as  Plato,  Seneca,  and  Samuel  Johnson.  But  the  table- 
turning  was  a  new  fad,  and  we  noisy  undergraduates 
occasionally  amused  ourselves  by  getting  up  an  ama- 
teur stance,  in  imitation  of  the  Professor,  and  eliciting 
psychical  truths,  often  couched  in  a  surprisingly 
slangly  or  even  indecorous  dialect,  from  a  very  lively 
though  painfully  irreverent  spirit,  who  discoursed  to 
us  through  the  material  intervention  of  a  rickety  what- 
not. However,  as  the  only  mediums  we  employed 
were  the  very  unprofessional  ones  of  two  plain  decan- 
ters, respectively  containing  port  and  sherry,  the  Pro- 
fessor (who  was  a  teetotaler,  and  who  paid  five  guineas 
a  stance  for  'he  services  of  that  distinguished  psychical 
specialist,  i  Grade)  considered  the  interesting  results 
we  obtained  as  wholly  beneath  the  dignity  of  scientific 
inquiry.  He  even  most  unworthily  endeavored  to 
stifle  research  by  gating  us  all  one  evening  when  a 
materialized   spirit,  assuming  the  outer   form   of  the 


258  STRANGE   STORIES. 

junior  exhibitioner,  sang  a  comic  song  of  the  period 
in  a  loud  voice  with  the  windows  open,  and  accompa- 
nied itself  noisily  with  a  psychical  tattoo  on  the  rickety 
what-not.  The  Professor  went  so  far  as  to  observe 
sarcastically  that  our  results  appeared  to  him  to  be 
rather  spirituous  than  spiritual. 

"On  May  11,  1873  (I  will  endeavor  to  rival  the  Pro- 
fessor in  accuracy  and  preciseness),  I  got  a  short  note 
from  dear  Nora,  dated  from  South  Kensington,  which 
I,  too  (though  not  from  psychical  motives),  have  care- 
fully preserved.  I  will  not  publish  it,  however,  either 
here  or  in  the  Society's  Proceedings,  for  reasons  which 
will  probably  be  obvious  to  any  of  my  readers  who 
happen  ever  to  have  been  placed  in  similar  circum- 
stances themselves.  Disengaging  the  kernel  of  fact 
from  the  irrelevant  matter  in  which  it  was  imbedded, 
I  may  st:ite  that  Nora  wrote  me  somewhat  to  this 
effect.  She  was  going  next  day  to  the  Academy  with 
the  parents  of  some  schoolfellow  ;  could  I  manage  to 
run  up  to.  town  for  the  day,  go  to  the  Academy  myself, 
and  meet  her  "  quite  accidentally,  you  know,  dear," 
in  the  Water-color  room  about  half-past  eleven? 

This  was  rather  awkward ;  for  next  day,  as  it  hap- 
pened, was  precisely  the  Professor's  morning  for  the 
Herodotus  lecture  ;  but  circumstances  like  mine  at 
that  moment  know  no  law.  So  I  succeeded  in  excus- 
ing myself  from  attendance  somehow  or  other  (I  hope 
truthfully)  and  took  the  nine  A.  M.  express  up  to  town. 
Shortly  after  eleven  I  was  at  the  Academy,  and  wait- 
ing anxiously  for  Nora's  arrival.  That  dear  little  hyp- 
ocrite, the  moment  she  saw  me  approach,  assumed 
such  an  inimitable  air  of  infantile  surprise  and  inno- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  riCCADILLY.   ^59 

cent  pleasure  at  my  unexpected  appearance  that  I  pos- 
itively blushed  for  her  wicked  powers  of  deception. 

**  Vou  here,  Mr.  Mansfield !"  she  cried  in  a  tone  of 
the  most  apparently  unaffected  astonishment,  "why  I 
thought  it  was  full  term  time  ;  surely  you  ought  to  be 
up  at  Oriel." 

"  So  I  am,"  I  answered,  "  officially  ;  but  in  my  pri- 
vate capacity  I've  come  up  for  the  day  to  look  at  the 
pictures." 

"Oh,  how  nice!"  said  that  shocking  little  Nora, 
with  a  smile  that  was  childlike  and  bland.  "  Mr.  Mans- 
field is  such  a  great  critic,  Mrs.  Worplesdon  ;  he  knows 
all  about  art,  and  artists,  and  so  on.  He'll  be  able  to 
tell'us  which  pictures  we  ought  to  admire,  you  know, 
and  which  aren't  worth  looking  at.  Mr.  Worplesdon, 
let  me  introduce  you  ;  Mrs.  Worplesdon — Miss  Wor- 
plesdon. How  very  lucky  we  should  have  happened 
to  come  across  you,  Mr.  Mansfield  !" 

The  Worplesdons  fell  immediately,  like  lambs,  into 
the  trap  so  ingenuously  spread  for  them.  Indeed,  I 
have  always  noticed  that  ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  the 
British  public,  when  turned  into  an  art  gallery,  are 
only  too  glad  to  accept  the  opinion  of  anybody  what- 
soever, who  is  bold  enough  to  have  one,  and  to  express 
it  openly.  Having  thus  been  thrust  by  Nora  into  the 
arduous  position  of  critic  by  appointment  to  the  Wor- 
plesdon party,  I  delivered  myself  ex  catJicdrd  forthwith 
upon  the  merits  and  demerits  of  the  entire  exhibition  ; 
and  I  was  so  successful  in  my  critical  views  that  I  not 
only  produced  an  immense  impression  upon  Mr.  Wor- 
plesdon himself,  but  also  observed  many  ladies  in  the 
neighborhood  nudge  one  another  as  they  gazed  in- 
tently backward  and  forward  between  wall  and  cata- 


i'         .     / 


25q  strange  stories. 

logue,  and  heard  them  whisper  audibly  among  them- 
selves, "  A  gentleman  here  says  the  flesh  tones  on  that 
shoulder  are  simply  marveHous  ;"  or  "  That  artist  in 
the  tweed  suit  behind  us  thinks  the  careless  painting 
of  the  ferns  in  the  foreground  quite  unworthy  of  such 
a  colorist  as  Daubiton."  So  highly  was  my  criticism 
appreciated,  in  fact, that  Mr.  Worplesdon  even  invited 
me  to  lunch  with  Nora  and  his  party  at  a  neighboring 
restaurant,  where  I  spent  the  most  deHghtful  hour  I 
had  passed  for  the  last  half-year,  in  the  company  of 
that  naughty  mendacious  little  schemer. 

About  four  o'clock,  however,  the  Worplesdons  de- 
parted, taking  Nora  with  them  to  South  Kensington  ; 
and  I  prepared  to  walk  back  in  the  direction  of  Ead- 
dington,  meaning  to  catch  an  evening  train,  and  return 
to  Oxford.  I  was  strolling  in  a  leisurely  fashion  along 
Piccadilly  towards  the  Park,  and  looking  into  all  the 
photographers*  windows,  when  suddenly  an  awful  ap- 
parition loomed  upon  me — the  Professor  himself,  com- 
ing round  the  corner  from  Bond  Street,  folding  up  a 
new  rhinoceros-handled  umbrella  as  he  walked  along. 
In  a  moment  I  felt  that  all  was  lost.  I  was  up  in  town 
without  leave  ;  the  Professor  would  certainly  see  me 
and  recognize  me ;  he  would  ask  me  how  and  why  I 
had  left  the  University,  contrary  to  rules  ;  and  I  must 
then  either  tell  him  the  whole  truth,  which  would  get 
Nora  into  a  fearful  scrape,  or  else  run  the  risk  of  being 
sent  down  in  disgrace,  which  might  prevent  me  from 
taking  a  degree,  and  would  at  least  cause  my  father 
and  mother  an  immense  deal  of  unmerited  trouble. 

Like  a  flash  of  lightning,  a  wild  idea  shot  instantane- 
ously across  my  brain.  Might  I  pretend  to  be  my 
own  double?     The  Professor  was  profoundly  supersti- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  PICCADILLY.   261 

tious  on  the  subject  of  wraiths,  apparitions,  ghosts, 
brain-waves,  and  supernatural  appearances  generally; 
if  I  could  only  manage  to  impose  upon  him  for  a 
moment  by  doing  something  outrageously  uncommon 
or  eccentric,  I  might  succeed  in  stifling  further  inquiry 
by  setting  him  from  the  beginning  on  a  false  track 
which  he  was  naturally  prone  to  follow.  Before  I  had 
time  to  reflect  upon  the  consequences  of  my  act,  the 
wild  idea  had  taken  possession  of  me,  body  and  soul, 
and  had  worked  itself  out  in  action  with  all  the  rapid- 
ity of  a  mad  impulse.  I  rushed  frantically  up  to  the 
Professor,  with  my  eyes  fixed  in  a  vacant  stare  on  a 
point  in  space  somewhere  above  the  tops  of  the  chim- 
ney-pots ;  I  waved  my  stick  three  times  mysteriously 
around  h!3  head  ;  and  then,  without  giving  him  time 
to  recover  from  his  surprise  or  to  address  a  single 
word  to  me,  I  bolted  off  in  a  red  Indian  dance  to  the, 
nearest  corner. 

There  was  an  hotel  there,  which  I  had  often  noticed 
before,  though  I  had  never  entered  it  ;  and  I  rushed 
wildly  in,  meaning  to  get  out  as  best  I  could  when  the 
Professor  (who  is  very  short-sighted)  had  passed  on 
along  Piccadilly  in  search  of  me.  But  fortune,  as 
usual  favored  the  bold.  Luckily,  it  was  a  corner 
house,  and,  to  my  surprise,  I  found  when  I  got  inside 
it,  that  the  hall  opened  both  ways,  with  a  door  on  to 
the  side  street.  The  porter  was  looking  away  as  I 
entered  ,  so  I  merely  ran  in  of  one  door  and  out  of  the 
other,  never  stopping  till  I  met  a  hansom,  into  which 
I  jumped  and  ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  Paddington. 
I  just  caught  the  4.35  to  Oxford,  and  by  a  little  over 
six  o'clock  I  was  in  my  own  rooms  at  Oriel. 

It  was  very  wrong  of  me,  indeed  ;  I  acknowledge  it 


262  STRANGE   STORIES. 

now  ;  but  the  whole  thing  had  flashed  across  my  un- 
dergraduate mind  so  rapidly  that  I  carried  it  out  in  a 
moment,  before  I  could  at  all  realize  what  a  very  fool- 
ish act  I  was  really  committing.  To  take  a  rise  out  of 
the  Professor,  and  to  save  Nora  an  angry  interview, 
were  the  only  ideas  that  occurred  to  me  at  the  second  ; 
when  I  began  to  reflect  upon  it  afterwards,  I  was  con- 
scious that  I  had  really  practiced  a  very  gross  and 
wicked  deception.  However,  there  was  no  help  for  it 
now ;  and  as  I  rolled  along  in  the  train  to  Oxford,  I 
felt  that  to  save  myself  and  Nora  from  utter  disgrace, 
I  must  carry  the  plot  out  to  the  end  without  flinching. 
It  then  occurred  to  me  that  a  double  apparition  would 
be  more  in  accordance  with  all  recognized  principles  of 
psychical  manifestation  than  a  single  one.  At  Read- 
ing, therefore,  I  regret  to  say,  I  bought  a  pencil,  and  a 
sheet  of  paper,  and  an  envelope  ;  and  before  I  reached 
Oxfard  station,  I  had  written  to  the  Professor  what  I 
now  blush  to  acknowledge  as  a  tissue  of  shocking 
fables,  in  which  I  paralleled  every  particular  of  my 
own  behavior  to  him  by  a  similar  imaginary  piece  of 
behavior  on  his  part  to  me,  only  changing  the  scene 
to  Oxford.  It  was  awfully  wrong,  I  admit.  At  the 
time,  however,  being  yet  but  little  more  than  a  school- 
boy, after  all,  I  regarded  it  simply  in  the  light  of  a  capi- 
tal practical  joke.  I  informed  the  Professor  gravely 
how  I  had  seen  him  at  four  o'clock  in  the  Corn  Market, 
and  how  astonished  I  was  when  I  found  him  waving  his 
green  silk  umbrella  three  times  wildly  around  my  head. 
The  moment  I  arrived  at  Oxford,  I  dashed  up  to 
college  in  a  hansom,  and  got  the  Professor's  address  in 
London  from  the  porter.  He  had  gone  up  to  town  for 
the  night,  it  seemed,  probably  to  visit  Nora,  and  would 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENXE  IN  PICCADILLY.    263 

not  be  back  in  college  till  the  next  morning.  Then  I 
rushed  down  to  the  post-office,  where  I  was  just  in 
time  (with  an  extra  stamp)  to  catch  the  last  post  for 
that  night's  delivery.  The  moment  the  letter  was  in 
the  box,  I  repented,  and  began  to  fear  I  had  gone  too 
far  ;  and  when  I  got  back  to  my  own  rooms  at  last,  and 
went  down  late  for  dinner  in  hall,  I  confess  I  trembled 
not  a  little,  as  to  the  possible  effect  of  my  quite  too 
bold  and  palpable  imposition. 

Next  morning  by  the  second  post  I  got  a  long  letter 
from  the  Professor,  which  completely  relieved  me  from 
all  immediate  anxiety  as  to  his  interpretation  of  my 
conduct.  He  rose  to  the  fly  with  a  charming  simplicity 
which  showed  how  delighted  he  was  at  this  personal 
confirmation  of  all  his  own  most  cherished  supersti- 
tions. "  My  dear  Mansfield,"  his  letter  began,  "  now 
hear  what,  at  the  very  selfsame  hour  and  minute,  hap- 
pened to  me  in  Piccadilly."  In  fact, he  had  swallowed 
the  whole  thing  entire,  without  a  single  moment's  scep- 
ticism or  hesitation. 

From  what  I  heard  afterwards,  it  was  indeed  a  lucky 
thing  for  me  that  I  had  played  him  this  shocking  trick, 
for  Nora  believes  he  was  then  actually  on  his  way  to 
South  Kensington  on  purpose  to  forbid  her  most  strin- 
gently from  holding  any  further  communication  with 
me  in  any  way.  But  as  soon  as  this  mysterious  event 
took  place,  he  began  to  change  his  mind  about  me  alto- 
gether. So  remarkable  an  apparition  could  not  have 
happened  except  for  some  good  and  weighty  reason, 
he  argued  ;  and  he  suspected  that  the  reason  might 
have  something  to  do  with  my  intentions  toward  Nora. 
Why,  when  he  was  on  his  way  to  warn  her  against  me, 
should  a  vision,  bearing  my  outer  and  bodily  shape. 


264  STRANGE   STORIES. 

come  straight  across  his  path,  and  by  vehement  signs 
of  displeasure,  endeavor  to  turn  him  from  his  purpose, 
unless  it  were  clearly  well  for  Nora  that  my  attentions 
should  not  be  discouraged? 

From  that  day  forth  the  Professor  began  to  ask  me 
to  his  rooms  and  address  me  far  more  cordially  than 
he  used  to  do  before:  he  even,  on  the  strength  of  my 
singular  adventure,  invited  me  to  assist  at  one  or  two 
of  his  psychical  sdanccs.  Here,  I  must  confess,  I  was 
not  entirely  successful  :  the  distinguished  medium 
complained  that  I  exerted  a  repellent  effect  upon  the 
spirits,  who  seemed  to  be  hurt  by  my  want  of  generous 
confidence  in  their  good  intentions,  and  by  my  sus- 
picious habit  of  keeping  my  eyes  too  sharply  fixed 
upon  the  legs  of  the  tables.  He  declared  that  when  I 
was  present,  an  adverse  influence  seemed  to  pervade 
the  room,  due,  apparently,  to  my  painful  lack  of  spirit- 
ual sympathies.  But  the  professor  condoned  my  fail- 
ure in  the  regular  psychical  line,  in  consideration  of 
my  brilliant  success  as  a  beholder  of  wraiths  and 
visions.  After  I  took  my  degree  that  summer,  he 
used  all  his  influence  to  procure  me  the  post  of  keeper 
of  the  Accadian  Antiquities  at  the  Museum,  for  which 
my  previous  studies  had  excellently  fitted  me  :  and  by 
his  friendly  ai>l  I  was  enabled  to  obtain  the  post, 
though  I  regret  to  say  that,  in  spite  of  his  credulity  in 
supernatural  matters,  he  still  refuses  to  believe  in 
the  correctness  of  my  conjectural  interpretation  of 
the  celebrated  Amalekite  cylinders  imported  by 
Mr.  Ananias,  which  I  have  deciphered  in  so  very 
simple  and  satisfactory  a  manner.  As  everybody 
knows,  my  translation  may  be  regarded  as  perfectly 
certain,  if  only  one  makes  the  very  modest  assumption 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  OCCURRENCE  IN  PICCADILLY.   265 

that  the  cylinders  were  orginally  engraved  upside 
down  by  an  Aztec  captive,  who  had  learned  broken 
Accadian,  with  a  bad  accent,  from  a  Chinese  exile,  and 
who  occasionally  employed  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  in 
incorrect  senses,  to  piece  out  his  own  very  imperfect 
idiom  and  doubtful  spelling  of  the  early  Babylonian 
language.  The  solitary  real  doubt  in  the  matter  is 
whether  certain  extraordinary  marks  in  the  upper  left- 
hand  corner  of  the  cylinder  arc  to  be  interpreted  as 
accidental  scratches,  or  as  a  picture  representing  the 
triumph  of  a  king  over  seven  bound  prisoners,  or, 
finally,  as  an  Accadian  sentence  in  cuneiforms  which 
may  be  translated  either  as  **  To  the  memory  of  Om 
the  Great,"  or  else  as  "  Pithor  the  High  Priest  dedi- 
cates a  fat  goose  to  the  family  dinner  on  the  25th  of 
the  month  of  midwinter."  Every  candid  and  unprej- 
udiced mind  must  admit  that  these  small  discrepancies 
or  alternatives  in  the  opinions  of  experts  can  cast  no 
doubt  at  all  upon  the  general  soundness  of  the  method 
employed.  But  persons  like  the  Professor,  while 
ready  to  accept  any  evidence  at  all  where  their  own 
prepossessions  are  concerned,  can  never  be  induced  to 
believe  such  plain  and  unvarnished  statements  of 
simple  scientific  knowledge. 

However,  the  end  of  it  all  was  that  before  I  had 
been  a  month  at  the  Museum,  I  had  obtained  the  Pro- 
fessor's consent  to  my  marrage  with  Nora  ;  and  as  I 
had  had  Nora's  own  consent  long  before,  we  were 
duly  joined  together  in  holy  matrimony  early  in 
October  at  Oxford,  and  came  at  once  to  live  in  Hamp- 
stead.  So,  as  it  turned  out,  I  finally  owed  the  sweet- 
est and  best  little  wife  in  all  Christendom  to  the  mys- 
terious occurrence  in  Piccadilly. 


CARVALHO. 


I. 

The  first  time  I  ever  met  Ernest  Carvalho  was  just 
before  the  regimental  dance  at  Newcastle.  I  had  rid- 
den up  the  Port  Royal  mountains  that  same  morning 
from  our  decaying  sugar  estate  in  the  Liguanea  plain, 
and  I  was  to  stop  in  cantonments  with  the  Major's 
wife,  fat  little  Mrs.  Venn,  who  had  promised  my 
mother  that  she  would  undertake  to  Chaperon  me  to 
this  my  earliest  military  party.  I  won't  deny  that  I 
looked  forward  to  it  immensely,  for  I  was  then  a  girl 
of  only  eighteen,  fresh  out  from  school  in  England, 
where  I  had  been  living  away  from  our  family  ever 
since  1  was  twelve  years  old.  Dear  mamma  was  a 
Jamaican  lady  of  the  old  school,  completely  overpow- 
ered by  the  ingrained  West  Indian  indolence  ;  and  if  I 
had  waited  to  go  to  a  dance  till  I  could  get  her  to  ac- 
company me,  I  might  have  waited  till  Doomsday,  or 
probably  later.  So  I  was  glad  enough  to  accept  fat 
little  Mrs.  Venn's  proffered  protection,  and  to  go  up 
the  hills  on  my  sure-footed  mountain  pony,  while 
Isaac,  the  black  stable-boy,  ran  up  behind  me  carrying 
on  his  thick  head  the  small  portmanteau  that  con- 
tained my  plain  white  ball-dress. 
[266] 


CARVALHO.  267 

As  I  went  up  the  steep  mountain-path  alone — for 
ladies  ride  only  with  such  an  unmounted  domestic  es- 
cort in  Jamaica — I  happened  to  overtake  a  tall  gentle- 
man with  a  handsome  rather  Jewish  face  and  a  pair  of 
extremely  lustrous  black  eyes,  who  was  mounted  on  a 
beautiful  chestnut  mare  just  in  front  of  me.  The 
horse-paths  in  the  Port  Royal  mountains  are  very  nar- 
row, being  mere  zigzag  ledges  cut  halfway  up  the  pre- 
cipitous green  slopes  of  fern  and  club-moss,  so  that 
there  is  seldom  room  for  two  horses  to  pass  abreast, 
and  it  is  necessary  to  wait  at  some  convenient  corner 
whenever  you  see  another  rider  coming  in  the  op- 
posite direction.  At  the  first  opportunity  the  tall 
Jewish-looking  gentleman  drew  aside  in  such  a  corner, 
and  waited  for  me  to  pass.  "  Pray  don't  wait,"  I  said, 
as  soon  as  I  saw  what  he  meant  ;  "your  horse  will  get 
up  faster  than  my  pony,  and  if  I  go  in  front  I  shall 
keep  you  back  unnecessarily." 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  raising  his  hat  grace- 
fully ;  **  you  are  a  stranger  in  the  hills,  I  see.  It  is  the 
rule  of  these  mountain-paths  always  to  give  a  lady  the 
lead.  If  I  go  first  and  my  mare  breaks  into  a  canter 
on  a  bit  of  level,  your  pony  will  try  to  catch  her  up 
on  the  steep  slopes,  and  that  is  always  dangerous." 

Seeing  he  did  not  intend  to  move  till  I  did,  I 
waived  the  point  at  last  and  took  the  lead.  From  that 
moment  I  don't  know  what  on  earth  came  over  my  lazy 
old  pony.  He  refused  to  go  at  more  than  a  walk,  or 
at  best  a  jog-trot,  the  whole  way  to  Newcastle.  Now 
the  rise  from  the  plain  to  the  cantonments  is  about 
four  thousand  feet,  I  think  (I  am  a  dreadfully  bad 
hand  at  remembering  figures),  and  the  distance  can't 
be  much  less,  I  suppose,  than  seven  miles.     During 


268  STRANGE  STORIES. 

all  that  time  you  never  see  a  soul,  except  a  few  negro 
pickaninnies  playing  in  the  dustheaps,  not  a  human 
habitation,  except  a  few  huts  embowered  in  mangoes, 
hibiscus-bushes,  and  tree-ferns.  At  first  we  kept  a 
decorous  silence,  not  having  been  introduced  to  one 
another ;  but  the  stranger's  mare  followed  close  at  my 
pony's  heels,  pull  her  in  as  he  would,  and  it  seemed 
really  too  ridiculous  to  be  solemnly  pacing  after  one 
another,  single  file,  in  this  way  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
without  speaking  a  word,  out  of  pure  punctiliousness. 
So  at  last  we  broke  the  ice,  and  long  before  we  got  to 
Newcastle  we  had  struck  up  quite  an  acquaintance 
with  one  another.  It  is  wonderful  how  well  two 
people  can  get  mutually  known  in  the  course  of  two 
hours'  tcte-a-tdtc,  especially  under  such  peculiar  circum- 
stances. You  are  just  near  enough  to  one  another 
for  friendly  chat,  and  yet  not  too  near  for  casual  stran- 
gers. And  then  Isaac  with  the  portmanteau  behind 
was  quite  sufficient  escort  to  satisfy  the  convenances. 
In  England,  one's  groom  would  have  to  be  mounted, 
which  always  seems  to  me,  in  my  simplicity,  a  distinc- 
tion without  a  difference. 

Mr.  Carvalho  was  on  his  way  up  to  Newcastle  on 
the  same  errand  as  myself,  to  go  to  the  dance.  He 
might  have  been  twenty,  I  suppose ;  and,  to  a  girl  of 
eighteen,  boys  of  twenty  seem  quite  men  already.  He 
was  a  clerk  in  a  Government  Office  at  Kingston,  and 
was  going  to  stop  with  a  sub  at  Newcastle  for  a  week 
or  two,  on  leave.  I  did  not  know  much  about  men  in 
those  days,  but  I  needed  little  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject to  tell  me  that  Ernest  Carvalho  was  decidedly 
clever.  As  soon  as  the  first  chill  wore  off  our  conver- 
sation, he  kept  me  amused  the  whole  way  by  his  bright 


CARVALHO.  269 

sketchy  talk  about  the  petty  dignitaries  of  a  colonial 
capital.  There  was  his  Excellency  for  the  time  being, 
and  there  was  the  Right  Reverend  of  that  day,  and 
there  was  the  Honorable  Colonial  Secretary,  and 
there  was  the  Honorable  Director  of  Roads,  and 
tbere  were  a  number  of  other  assorted  Honorables, 
whose  queer  little  peculiaries  he  hit  off  dexterously  in 
the  quaintest  manner.  Not  that  there  was  any 
unkindly  satire  in  his  brilliant  conversation  ;  on  the 
contrary,  he  evidently  liked  most  of  the  men  he  talked 
about,  and  seemed  only  ti  read  and  realize  their 
characters  so  thoroughly  that  they  spoke  for  them- 
selves in  his  dramatic  anecdotes.  He  appeared  to  me 
a  more  genial  copy  of  Thackeray  in  a  colonial  society, 
with  all  the  sting  gone,  and  only  the  skillful  delinea- 
tion of  men  and  women  left.  I  had  never  met  any- 
body before,  and  I  have  never  met  anybody  since, 
who  struck  me  so  instantaneously  with  the  idea  of 
innate  genius  as  Ernest  Carvalho. 

"  You  have  been  in  England,  of  course,"  I  said,  as 
we  were  nearing  Newcastle. 

**  No,  never,"  he  answered  ;  **  I  am  a  Jamaican  born 
and  bred ;  I  have  never  been  out  of  the  island." 

I  was  surprised,  for  he  seemed  so  different  from  any 
of  the  young  planters  I  had  met  at  our  house,  most  of 
whom  had  never  opened  a  book,  apparently,  in  the 
course  of  their  lives,  while  Mr.  Carvalho's  talk  was 
full  of  indefinite  literary  flavor.  "  Where  were  you 
educated,  then?"  I  asked. 

"  I  never  was  educated  anywhere,"  he  answered, 
laughing.  "  I  went  to  a  small  school  at  Port  Antonio 
during  my  father's  life,  but  for  the  most  part  I  have 
picked  up   whatever  I  know    (and    that's    not    much) 


2/0  STRANGE  STORIES. 

wholly  by  myself.  Of  course,  French,  like  reading  and 
writing,  comes  by  nature,  and  I  got  enough  Spanish  to 
dip  into  Cervantes  from  the  Cuban  refugees.  Latin 
one  has  to  grind  up  out  of  books,  naturally  ;  and  as 
for  Greek,  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  know  very  little,  though, 
of  course,  I  can  spell  out  Homer  a  bit,  and  even 
^schylus.  But  my  hobby  is  natural  science,  and 
there  a  fellow  has  to  make  his  own  way  here,  for 
hardly  anything  has  been  done  at  the  beasts  and  the 
flowers  in  the  West  Indies  yet.  But  if  I  live,  I  mean 
to  work  them  up  in  time,  and  I've  made  a  fair  begin- 
ning already." 

This  reasonable  list  of  accomplishments,  given 
modestly,  not  boastfully,  by  a  young  man  of  twenty, 
wholly  self-taught,  fairly  took  my  breath  away.  I  was 
inspired  at  once  with  a  secret  admiration  for  Mr. 
Carvalho.  He  was  so  handsome  and  so  clever  that  I 
think  I  was  half  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with  him  at 
first  sight.  To  say  the  truth,  I  believe  almost  all  love 
is  love  at  first  sight ;  and  for  my  own  part,  I  wouldn't 
give  you  a  thank-you  for  any  other  kind. 

"  Here  we  must  part,"  he  said,  as  we  reached  a  fork 
in  the  narrow  path  just  outside  the  steep  hog's  back 
on  which  Newcastle  stands,"  unless  you  will  allow  me 
to  see  you  safely  as  far  as  Mrs.  Venn's.  The  path  to 
the  right  leads  to  the  Major's  quarters  ;  this  on  the 
left  takes  me  to  my  friend  Cameron's  hut.  Mi^y  I  see 
you  to  the  Major's  door  ?" 

**  No,  thank  you,"  I  answered  decidedly  ;  "  Isaac  is 
escort  enough.     We  shall  meet  again  this  evening." 

"  Perhaps,  then,"  he  suggested,  **  I  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  a  dance  with  you.  Of  course  it's  quite 
irregular  of  me  to  ask  you  now,  but  we  shall  be  for- 


CARVALHO.  271 

mally  introduced,  no  doubt,  to-night,  and  I'm  afraid 
if  you  lunch  at  the  Venns'  your  card  will  be  filled  up 
by  the  99th  men  before  I  can  edge  myself  in  anywhere 
for  a  dance.     Will  you  allow  me?" 

"  Certainly,"  I  said  ;  "  what  shall  it  be  ?  The  first 
waltz  ?" 

'•  You  are  very  kind,"  he  answered,  taking  out  a 
pencil.  **  You  know  my  name — Carvalho  ;  what  may 
I  put  down  for  yours  ?     I  haven't  heard  it  yet." 

'*  Miss  Hazleden,"  I  replied,  "  of  Palmettos." 

Mr.  Carvalho  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise.  "  Miss 
Hazleden  of  Palmettos,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  with 
a  rather  pained  expression.  *'  Miss  Hazleden  !  Then 
perhaps,  I'd  better — well,  why  not?  why  not,  indeed? 
Palmettos — Yes,  I  will."  Turning  to  me,  he  said, 
louder,  "  Thank  you  ;  till  this  evening,  then  ;"  and, 
raising  his  hat,  he  hurried  sharply  round  the  corner  of 
the  hill. 

What  was  there  in  my  name,  I  wondered,  which 
made  him  so  evidently  hesitate  and  falter  ? 

Fat  little  Mrs.  Venn  was  very  kind,  and  not  a  very 
strict  chaperon^  but  I  judged  it  best  not  to  mention  to 
her  this  romantic  episode  of  the  handsome  stranger. 
However,  during  the  course  of  lunch,  I  ventured 
casually  to  ask  her  husband  whether  he  knew  of  any 
family  in  Jamaica  of  the  name  of  Carvalho. 

"  Carvalho,"  answered  the  Major,  "  bless  my  soul, 
yes.  Old  settled  family  in  the  island;  Jews;  live 
down  Savannah-la-Mar  way ;  been  here  ever  since  the 
Spanish  time ;  doocid  clever  fellows,  too,  and  rich, 
most  of  them." 

"Jews,"  I  thought;  "  ah,  yes,  Mr.  Carvalho  had  a 
very  handsome  Jewish  type  of  face  and  dark  eyes;  but 


272  STRANGE  STORIES. 

why,  yes,  surely  I  heard  him  speak  several  times  of 
having  been  to  church,  r»nd  once  of  the  cathedral  at 
Spanish  Town.     This  was  curious/' 

"  Are  any  of  them  Christians?"  I  asked  again. 

"Not  a  man,"  answered  the  Major;  "not  a  man, 
my  dear.  Good  old  Jewish  family;  Jews  in  Jamaica 
never  turn  Christians;    nothing  to  gain  by  it." 

The  dance  took  place  in  the  big  messroom,  looking 
out  on  the  fan-palms  and  tree-ferns  of  the  regimental 
garden.  It  was  a  lovely  tropical  night,  moonlight,  of 
course,  for  all  Jamaican  entertainments  are  given  at 
full  moon,  so  as  to  let  the  people  who  ride  from  a  dis- 
tance get  to  and  fro  safely  over  the  breakneck  moun- 
tain horse-paths.  The  windows,  which  open  down  to 
the  ground,  were  flung  wide  for  the  sake  of  ventilation  ; 
and  thus  the  terrace  and  garden  were  made  into  a  sort 
of  vestibule  where  partners  might  promenade  and  cool 
themselves  among  the  tropical  flowers  after  the  heat 
of  dancing.  And  yet,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  though  the 
climate  is  so  hot  in  Jamaica,  I  never  danced  anywhere 
so  much  or  felt  the  heat  so  little  oppressive. 

Before  the  first  waltz,  Mr.  Carvalho  came  up,  accom 
panied  by  my  old  friend.  Dr.  Wade,  and  was  properly 
introduced  to  me.  By  that  time  my  card  was  pretty 
full,  for  of  course,  I  was  a  belle  in  those  days,  and  be- 
ing just  fresh  out  from  England,  was  rather  run  after. 
But  I  will  confess  that  I  had  taken  the  liberty  of  filling 
in  three  later  waltzes  (unasked)  with  Mr.  Carvalho's 
name,  for  I  knew  by  his  very  look  that  he  could  waltz 
divinely,  and  I  do  love  a  good  partner.  He  did  waltz 
divinely,  but  at  the  end  of  the  dance  I  was  really  afraid 
he  didn't  mean  to  ask  me  again.  When  he  did,  a 
little  hesitatingly,  I  said  I  had  still  three  vacancies, 


CARVALIIO.  273 

and  found  he  had  not  yet  asked  anybody  else.  I  en- 
joyed those  four  dances  more  than  any  others  that 
evening,  the  more  so,  perhaps,  as  I  saw  my  cousin, 
Harry  Verner  of  Agualta,  was  dying  with  jealousy 
because  I  danced  so  much  with  Mr.  Carvalho. 

I  must  just  say  a  word  or  two  about  Harry  Verner. 
He  was  a  planter  piir  sang,  and  Agualta  was  one  of 
the  few  really  flourishing  sugar  estates  then  left  on  the 
island.  Harry  was,  therefore,  naturally  regarded  as 
rather  a  catch  ;  but,  for  my  part,  I  could  never  care 
for  any  man  who  has  only  three  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion— himself,  vacuum-pan  sugar,  and  the  wickedness 
of  the  French  bounty  system,  which  keeps  the  poor 
planter  out  of  his  own.  So  I  danced  away  with  Mr. 
Carvalho,  partly  because  I  liked  him  just  a  little,  you 
know,  but  partly,  also,  I  will  frankly  admit,  because  I 
saw  it  annoyed  Harry  Verner. 

At  the  end  of  our  fourth  dance,  I  was  strolling  with 
Mr.  Carvalho  among  the  great  bushy  poinsettias  and 
plumbagos  on  the  terrace,  under  the  beautiful  soft 
green  light  of  that  tropical  moon,  when  Harry  Verner 
came  from  one  of  the  windows  directly  upon  us.  "  I 
suppose  you've  forgotten,  Edith,"  he  said,  **  that 
you're  engaged  to  me  for  the  next  lancers.  Mr.  Car- 
valho, I  know  you  are  to  dance  with  Miss  Wade ; 
hadn't  you  better  go  and  look  for  your  partner  ?" 

He  spoke  pointedly,  almost  rudely,  and  Mr.  Car- 
valho took  the  hint  at  once.  As  soon  he  was  gone, 
Harry  turned  round  to  me  fiercely  and  said  in  a  low, 
angry  voice,  **  You  shall  not  dance  this  lancers,  you 
shall  sit  it  out  with  me  here  in  the  garden  ;  come  over 
to  the  seat  in  the  far  corner." 

He  led  me  resistlessly  to  the  seat,  away  from  the 


274  STRANGE   STORIES. 

noise  of  the  regimental  band  and  the  dancers,  and  then 
sat  himself  down  at  the  far  end  from  me,  like  a  great 
surly  bear  that  he  was. 

"A  pretty  fool  you've  been  making  of  yourself  to- 
night, Edith,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  anger, 
"  with  that  fellow  Carvalho.  Do  you  know  who  he  is, 
miss  ?     Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?" 

"  No,"  I  answered  faintly,  fearing  he  was  going  to 
assure  me  that  my  clever  new  acquaintance  was  a 
notorious  swindler  or  a  runaway  ticket-of-leave  man. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  cried,  angrily.  "I'll 
tell  you.  He's  a  colored  man,  miss  !  that's  what  he 
is." 

"  A  colored  man  ?"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise  ;  "why, 
he's  as  white  as  you  and  I  are,  every  bit  as  white, 
Harry." 

"  So  he  may  be,  to  look  at,"  answered  my  cousin  ; 
**  but  a  brown  man's  a  brown  man,  all  the  same,  how- 
ever much  white  blood  he  may  have  in  him  ;  you  can 
never  breed  the  nigger  out.  Confound  his  impudence, 
asking  you  to  dance  four  times  with  him  in  a  single 
evening !  You,  too,  of  all  girls  in  the  island  !  Con- 
found his  impudence !  Why,  his  mother  was  a  slave 
girl  once  on  Palmettos  estate  !" 

"Oh,  Harry,  you  don't  mean  to  say  so,"  I  cried,  for 
I  was  West  Indian  enough  in  my  feelings  to  have  a 
certain  innate  horror  of  colored  blood,  and  I  was  really 
shocked  to  think  I  had  been  so  imprudent  as  to  dance 
four  times  with  a  brown  man. 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  it,  miss,"  he  answered  ;  "  an  octa- 
roon  slave  girl,  and  Carvalho's  her  son  by  old  Jacob 
Carvalho,  a  Jew  merchant  at  the  back  of  the  island, 
who  was  fool  enough  to  go  and  actually  marry  her. 


CARVALHO.  275 

So  now  you  see  what  a  pretty  mess  you've  gone  and 
been  made  of  it.  We  shall  have  it  all  over  Kingston 
to-morrow,  I  suppose,  that  Miss  Hazelden,  a  Hazelden 
and  a  Verner,  has  been  flirting  violently  with  a  bit  of 
colored  scum  off  her  own  grandfather's  estate  at  Pal- 
mettos.    A  nice  thing  for  the  family,  indeed  !" 

"  But,  Harry,"  I  said,  pleading,  "  he's  such  a  perfect 
gentleman  in  his  manners  and  conversation,  so  very 
much  superior  to  a  great  many  Jamaican  young  men." 

"  Hang  it  all,  miss,"  said  Harry — he  used  a  stronger 
expression,  for  he  was  not  particular  about  swearing 
before  ladies,  but  I  won't  transcribe  all  his  oaths — 
**  hang  it  all,  that's  the  way  of  you  girls  who  have  been 
to  England.  If  I  had  fifty  daughters  I'd  never  send 
one  of  *em  home,  not  I.  You  go  over  there,  and  you 
get  enlightened,  as  you  call  it,  and  you  learn  a  lot  of 
radical  fal-lal  about  equality  and  a-man-and-a-brother, 
and  all  that  humbug  ;  and  then  you  come  back  and 
despise  your  own  people,  who  are  gentlemen  and  the 
sons  of  gentlemen  for  fifty  generations,  from  the  good 
old  slavery  days  onward.  I  wish  we  had  them  here 
again,  I  do,  and  I'd  tic  up  that  fellow  Carvalho  to  a 
horse-post  and  flog  him  with  a  cow-hide  within  an  inch 
of  his  life." 

I  was  too  much  accustomed  to  Harry's  manners  to 
make  any  protest  against  this  vigorous  suggestion  of 
reprisals.  I  took  his  arm  quietly.  "  Let  us  go  back 
into  the  ballroom,  Harry,"  I  said  as  persuasively  as  I 
was  able,  for  I  loathed  the  man  in  my  heart,  "  and  for 
heaven's  sake  don't  make  a  scene  about  it.  If  there 
is  anything  on  earth  I  detest,  it's  scenes." 

Next  morning  I  felt  rather  feverish,  and  dear  fat 
little  Mrs.  Venn  was  quite  frightened  about  mo.     **  If 


2/6  STRANGE  STORIES. 

you  go  down  again  to  Liguanea  with  this  fever  on 
■you,  my  dear,"  'le  said,  "  you'll  get  yellow  Jack  as 
soon  as  you  arc  home  again.  Better  write  and  ask 
your  mamma  to  let  you  stop  a  fortnight  with  us 
here." 

I  consented,  readily  enough,  for,  of  course,  no  girl  of 
eighteen  ever  in  her  heart  objects  to  military  society, 
and  the  99th  were  really  very  pleasant  and  well-inten- 
tioned young  fellows.  But  I  made  up  my  mind  that  if  I 
stayed  I  would  take  particular  care  to  see  no  more  of 
Mr.  Carvalho.  He  was  very  clever,  very  fascinating, 
very  nice,  but  then — he  was  a  brown  man  !  That  was 
a  bar  that  no  West  Indian  girl  could  ever  be  ex- 
pected to  get  over. 

As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  however — I  write  as  I 
then  felt — about  three  days  after,  Mr.  Venn  said  to 
me,  "I've  invited  Mr.  Cameron,  one  of  our  sub-lieu- 
tenants, to  dine  this  evening,  and  I've  had  to  invite  his 
guest,  young  Carvalho,  as  well.  By  the  way,  Edie,  if 
I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  talk  quite  so  much  as  you  did 
the  other  evening  to  Mr.  Carvalho.  You  know,  dear, 
though  he  doesn't  look  it,  he's  a  brown  man." 

"  I  didn't  know  it,"  I  answered,  "  till  the  end  of  the 
evening,  and  then  Harry  Verncr  told  me.  I  wouldn't 
have  danced  with  him  more  than  once  if  I'd  known 
It. 

"  Wonderful  how  that  young  fellow  has  managed  to 
edge  himself  into  society,"  said  the  major,  looking  up 
from  his  book  ;  "  devilish  odd.  Son  of  old  Jacob 
Carvalho  ;  Jacob  left  him  all  his  coin,  not  very  much  ; 
picked  up  his  ABC  somewhere  or  other ;  got  into 
Government  service ;  asked  to  Governor's  dances ; 
goes  everywhere  now.     Can't  understand  it." 


CARVALHO.  277 

"Well,  my  dear,"  says  Mrs.  Venn,  "why  do  we  ask 
him  ourselves ''" 

"  Because  we  can't  help  it,"  says  the  major,  testily. 
"  Cameron  goes  and  picks  him  up  ;  ought  to  be  in  the 
Engineers,  Cameron  ;  too  doocid  clever  for  the  line 
and  for  this  regiment.  Always  picks  up  some  astron- 
omer fellow,  or  some  botanist  fellow,  or  some  fellow 
who  understands  fortification  or  something.  Com- 
petitive examination's  ruin  of  the  service.  Get  all 
sorts  of  people  into  the  regiment  now.  Believe  Cam- 
eron himself  lives  upon  his  pay  almost,  hanged  if  I 
don't." 

That  evening,  Mr.  Carvalho  came,  and  I  liked  him 
better  than  ever.  Mr.  Cameron,  who  was  a  brother 
botanist  and  a  nice  ingenuous  young  Highlander,  made 
him  bring  his  portfolio  of  Jamaica  ferns  and  flowers, 
the  loveliest  things  I  ever  saw — dried  specimens  and 
water-color  sketches  to  accompany  them  of  the  plants 
themselves  as  they  grew  naturally.  He  told  us  all 
about  them  so  enthusiastically,  and  of  how  he  used  to 
employ  almost  all  his  holidays  in  the  mountains  hunt- 
ing for  specimens.  "  I'm  afraid  the  fellows  at  the 
office  think  me  a  dreadful  muff  for  it,"  he  said,  "but  I 
can't  help  it,  it's  born  in  me.  My  mother  is  a  descend- 
ant of  Sir  Hans  Sloane's,  who  lived  here  for  several 
years — the  founder  of  the  British  Museum,  you  know 
— and  all  her  family  have  always  had  a  taste  for  bush, 
as  the  negroes  call  it.  You  know,  a  good  many 
mulatto  people  have  the  blood  of  able  English 
families  in  their  veins,  and  that  accounts,  I  believe,  for 
their  usual  high  average  of  general  intelligence." 

I  was  surprised  to  hear  him  speak  so  unaffectedly  of 
bis  ancestry  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  house,  for  most 


I 


278  STRANGE   STORIES. 

light  colored  people  studiously  avoid  any  reference  to 
their  social  disabilities.  I  liked  him  all  the  bettor, 
however,  for  the  perfect  frankness  with  which  he  said 
it.  If  only  he  hadn't  been  a  brown  man,  now!  But 
there,  you  can't  get  over  those  fundamental  race  preju- 
dices. 

Next  morning,  as  the  Major  and  I  were  out  riding, 
we  came  again  across  Mr.  Cameron  and  Mr.  Carvalho. 
Faie  really  seemed  determined  to  throw  us  together. 
We  were  goihg  to  the  Fern  Walk  to  gather  gold  and 
silver  ferns,  and  Mr.  Carvalho  was  bound  in  the  same 
direction,  to  look  for  some  rare  hill-top  flowers.  At 
the  Walk  we  dismounted,  and,  while  the  two  officers 
went  hunting  about  among  the  bush,  Mr.  Carvalho  and 
I  sat  for  a  while  upon  a  big  rock  in  the  shade  of  a 
mountain  palm.  The  conversation  happened  to  come 
round  to  somewhat  the  same  turn  as  it  had  taken  the 
last  evening. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carvalho,  in  answer  to  a  question  of 
mine,  "  I  do  think  that  mulattos  and  quadroons  are 
generally  cleverer  than  the  average  run  of  white  peo- 
ple. You  see,  mixture  of  race  evidently  tends  to  in- 
crease the  total  amount  of  brain  power.  There  are 
peculiar  gains  of  brain  on  the  one  side,  and  other 
peculiar  gains,  however  small,  on  the  other  ;  and  the 
mixture,  I  fancy,  tends  to  preserve  or  increase  both. 
That  is  why  the  descendants  of  Huguenots  in  England, 
and  the  descendants  of  Italians  in  France,  show  gen- 
erally such  great  ability." 

"  Then  you  yourself  ought  to  be  an  example,"  I 
said,  "  for  your  name  seems  to  be  Spanish  or  Portu- 
guese." 

"  Spanish    and    Jewish,"    he    answered,    laughing, 


CARVALHO.  279 

"  though  I  didn't  mean  to  give  a  side-puff  to  myself. 
Yes,  I  am  of  very  mixed  race  indeed.  On  my  father's 
side  I  am  Jewish,  though  of  course  the  Jews  acknowl- 
edge nobody  who  isn't  a  pure-blooded  descendant  of 
Abraham  in  both  lines ;  and  for  that  reason  I  have 
been  brought  up  a  Christian.  On  my  mother's  side  I 
am  partly  negro,  partly  English,  partly  Haitian-French, 
and,  through  the  Sloanes,  partly  Dutch  as  well.  So 
you  see  I  am  a  very  fair  mixture." 

"  And  that  accounts,"  I  said,  "  for  your  being  so 
clever." 

He  blushed  and  bowed  a  little  demure  bow,  but  said 
nothing. 

It's  no  use  fighting  against  fate,  and  during  all  that 
fortnight  I  did  nothing  but  run  up  against  Mr.  Car- 
valho.  Wherever  I  went,  he  was  sure  to  be  ;  wherever 
I  was  invited,  he  was  invited  to  meet  me.  The  fact  is, 
I  had  somehow  acquired  the  reputation  of  being  a 
clever  girl,  arid,  as  Mr.  Cameron  was  by  common  con- 
sent the  clever  man  of  his  regiment,  it  was  considered 
proper  that  he  (and  by  inference  his  guest)  should  be 
always  asked  to  entertain  me.  The  more  I  saw  of  Mr. 
Carvalho  the  better  I  liked  him.  He  was  so  clever, 
and  yet  so  simple  and  unassuming,  that  one  couldn't 
help  admiring  and  sympathizing  with  him.  Indeed,  if 
he  hadn't  been  a  brown  man,  I  almost  think  I  should 
have  fallen  in  love  with  him  outright. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  I  went  back  to  Palmettos. 
A  few  days  after,  who  should  come  to  call  but  old 
General  Farquhar,  and  with  him,  of  all  men  in  the 
world,  Mr.  Carvalho!  Mamma  was  furious.  She 
managed  to  be  frigidly  polite  as  long  as  they  stopped, 
but  when  they  were  gone  she  went  off  at  once  into  one 


280  STRANGE   STORIES. 

of  her  worst  nervous  crisises  (that's  not  the  regular 
plural,  I'm  sure,  but  no  matter).  "  I  knew  his  mother 
when  she  was  a  slave  of  your  grandfather's,"  she  said  ; 
"  an  upstanding  proud  octaroon  girl,  who  thought  her- 
self too  good  for  her  place  because  she  was  nearly  a 
white  woman.  She  left  the  estate  immediately  after 
that  horrid  emancipation,  to  keep  a  school  of  brown 
girls  in  Kingston.  And  then  she  had  the  insolence  to  go 
and  get  actually  married  at  church  to  old  Jacob  Car- 
valho  !  Just  like  those  brown  people.  Their  grand- 
mothers never  married."  For  poor  mamma  always 
made  it  a  subject  of  reproach  against  the  respectable 
colored  folk  that  they  tried  to  live  more  decently  and 
properly  than  their  ancestors  used  to  do  in  slavery 
times. 

Mr.  Carvalho  never  came  to  Palmettos  again,  but 
whenever  I  went  to  Kingston  to  dances  I  met  him, 
and  in  spite  of  mamma  I  talked  to  him  too.  One  day 
I  went  over  to  a  ball  at  Government  House,  and  there 
I  saw  both  him  and  Harry  Verner.  For  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  had  two  proposals  made  me,  and  on  the 
same  night.     Harry  Verner's  came  first. 

"  Edie,"  he  said  to  me,  between  the  dances,  as  we 
were  strolling  out  in  the  gardens.  West  Indian  fashion, 
"  I  often  think  Agualta  is  rather  lonely.  It  wants  a 
lady  to  look  after  the  house,  while  I'm  down  looking 
after  the  cane  pieces.  We  made  the  best  return  in 
sugar  of  any  estate  on  the  island,  last  year,  you  know; 
but  a  man  can't  subsist  entirely  on  sugar.  He  wants 
sympathy  and  intellectual  companionship."  (This 
was  quite  an  effort  for  Harry.)  "  Now,  I've  not  been 
in  a  hurry  to  get  married.  I've  waited  till  I  could  find 
some  one  whom  I  could  thoroughly  respect  and  admire 


-        CARVALHO.  281 

as  well  as  love.  I've  looked  at  all  the  girls  in  Jamaica 
before  making  my  choice,  and  I've  determined  not  to 
be  guided  by  monetary  considerations  or  any  other 
considerations  except  those  of  the  affections  and  of 
real  underlying  goodness  and  intellect.  I  feel  that 
you  are  the  one  girl  I  have  met  who  is  far  and  away 
my  superior  in  everything  worth  living  for,  Edie  ;  and 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  whether  you  will  make  me  proud 
and  happy  for  ever  by  becoming  the  mistress  of  Agu- 
alta?" 

I  felt  that  Harry  was  really  conceding  so  very  much 
to  me,  and  honoring  me  so  greatly  by  offering  me  a 
life  partnership  in  that  flourishing  sugar  estate,  that  it 
really  went  to  my  heart  to  have  to  refuse  him.  But  I 
told  him  plainly  I  could  not  marry  him  because  I  did 
not  love  him.  Harry  seemed  quite  surprised  at  my 
refusal,  but  answered  politely  that  perhaps  I  might 
learn  to  love  him  hereafter,  that  he  would  not  be  so 
foolish  as  to  press  me  further  now,  and  that  he  would 
do  his  best  to  deserve  my  love  in  future.  And  with 
that  little  speech  he  led  me  back  to  the  ballroom,  and 
handed  me  over  to  my  next  partner. 

Later  on  in  the  evening,  Mr.  Carvalho  too,  with  an 
earnest  look  in  his  handsome  dark  eyes,  asked  leave  to 
take  me  for  a  few  turns  in  the  garden.  We  sat  down 
on  a  bench  under  the  great  mango  tree,  and  he  began 
to  talk  to  me  in  a  graver  fashion  than  usual. 

"  Your  mother  was  annoyed,  I  fear.  Miss  Hazleden," 
he  said,  "  that  I  should  call  at  Palmettos." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  I  answered,  "  I  think  she 
'      was." 

"I  was  afraid  she  would  be — I  knew  she  would  be, 
in  fact ;  and  for  that  very  reason  I  hesitated  to  do  it, 


282  '  STRANGE  STORIES. 

as  I  hesitated  to  dance  with  you  the  first  time  I  met 
you,  as  soon  as  I  knew  who  you  really  were.  But  I 
felt  I  ought  to  face  it  out.  You  know  by  this  time, 
no  doubt,  Miss  Hazelden,  that  my  mother  was  once  a 
slave  on  your  grandfather's  estate.  Now,  it  is  a  theory 
of  mine — a  little  Quixotic,  perhaps,  but  still  a  theory 
of  mine — that  the  guilt  and  the  shame  of  slavery  lay 
with  the  slave-owners  (forgive  me  if  I  must  needs 
speak  against  your  own  class),  and  not  with  the  slaves 
or  their  descendants.  We  have  nothing  on  earth  to 
be  ashamed  of.  Thinking  thus,  I  felt  it  incumbent 
upon  me  to  call  at  Palmettos,  partly  in  defense  of  my 
general  principles,  and  partly  also  because  I  wished 
to  see  whether  you  shared  your  mother's  ideas  on 
that  subject." 

"  You  were  quite  right  in  what  you  did,  Mr.  Car- 
valho,"  I  answered  ;  "  and  I  respect  you  for  the  bold- 
ness with  which  you  cling  to  what  you  think  your 
duty." 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Hazleden,"  he  answered,  "  you 
are  very  kind.  Now,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  about 
another  and  more  serious  question.  Forgive  my  talk- 
ing about  myself  for  a  moment ;  I  feel  sure  you  have 
kindly  interested  yourself  in  me  a  little.  I,  too,  am 
proud  of  my  birth,  in  my  way,  for  I  am  the  son  of  an 
honest,  able  man,  and  of  a  tender,  true  woman.  I  come 
on  one  side  from  the  oldest  and  greatest  among  civil- 
ized races,  the  Jews ;  and  on  the  other  side  from  many 
energetic  English,  French,  and  Dutch  families,  whose 
blood  I  am  vain  enough  to  prize  as  a  precious  inherit- 
ance, even  though  it  came  to  me  through  the  veins  of 
an  octaroon  girl,  I  have  lately  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  is  not  well  for  me  to  remain  in  Jamaica.    I 


CARVALHO.  283 

cannot  bear  to  live  in  a  society  which  will  not  receive 
my  dear  mother  on  the  same  terms  as  it  receives  me, 
and  will  not  receive  either  of  us  on  the  same  terms  as 
it  receives  other  people.  We  are  not  rich,  but  we  are 
well  enough  off  to  go  to  live  in  England  ;  and  to  Eng- 
land I  mean  soon  to  go." 

"  I  am  glad  and  sorry  to  hear  it,"  I  said.  "  Glad, 
because  I  am  sure  it  is  the  best  thing  for  your  own 
happiness,  and  the  best  opening  for  your  great  talents ; 
sorry,  because  there  are  not  many  people  in  Jamaica 
whose  society  I  shall  miss  so  much." 

**  What  you  say  encourages  me  to  venture  a  little 
further.  When  I  get  to  England,  I  intend  to  go  to 
Cambridge  and  take  a  degree  there,  so  as  to  put  my- 
self on  an  equality  with  other  educated  people.  Now, 
Miss  Hazleden,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  something 
which  is  so  great  a  thing  to  ask  that  it  makes  my  heart 
tremble  to  ask  it.  I  know  no  man  on  earth,  least  of 
all  myself,  dare  think  himself  fit  for  you,  or  dare  plead 
his  own  cause  before  you,  without  feeling  his  own 
unworthiness  and  pettiness  of  soul  beside  you.  Yet 
just  because  I  know  how  infinitely  better  and  nobler 
and  higher  you  are  than  I  am,  I  cannot  resist  trying, 
just  once,  whether  I  may  not  hope  that  perhaps  you 
will  consider  my  appeal,  and  count  my  earnestness  to 
me  for  righteousness.  I  have  watched  you,  and 
listened  to  you,  and  admired  you,  till  in  spite  of  my- 
self I  have  not  been  able  to  refrain  from  loving  you.  I 
know  it  is  madness  ;  I  know  it  is  yearning  after  the 
unattainable;  but  I  cannot  help  it.  Oh,  don't  answer 
me  too  soon  and  crush  me,  but  consider  whether  per- 
haps in  the  future  you  might  not  somehow  at  some 
time  think  it  possible." 


284  STRANGE  STORIES. 

He  leaned  forward  towards  me  in  a  supplicating  atti- 
tude. At  that  moment  I  loved  him  with  all  the  force 
of  my  nature.  Yet  I  dared  not  say  so.  The  spectre 
of  the  race  prejudice  rose  instinctively  like  a  dividing 
wall  between  my  heart  and  my  lips.  **  Mr.  Carvalho," 
I  said,  "  take  me  back  to  my  scat.  You  must  not  talk 
so,  please." 

**  One  minute,  Miss  Hazlcden,"  he  went  on  passion- 
ately ;  "  one  minute,  and  then  I  will  be  silent  forever. 
Remember,  we  might  live  in  England,  far  away  from 
all  these  unmeaning  barriers.  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
take  me  now,  and  as  I  am ;  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  make 
myself  more  worthy  of  you.  Only  let  me  hope  ;  don't 
answer  me  no  without  considering  it.  I  know  how 
little  I  deserve  such  happiness;  but  if  you  will  take 
me,  I  will  live  all  my  life  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
make  you  see  that  I  am  striving  to  show  myself  grate- 
ful for  your  love.  Oh,  Miss  Hazleden,  do  listen  to 
me." 

I  felt  that  in  another  moment  I  should  yield  ;  I  could 
have  seized  his  outstretched  hands  then,  and  told  him 
that  I  loved  him,  but  I  dared  not. 

"Mr.  Carvalho,"  I  said,  **  let  us  go  back  now,  I  will 
write  to  you  to-morrow." 

He  gave  me  his  arm  with  a  deep  breath,  and  we 
went  back  slowly  to  the  music. 

**  Edith,"  said  my  mother  sharply,  when  I  got  home 
that  night,  "  Harry  has  been  here,  and  I  know  two 
things.  He  has  proposed  to  you  and  you  have  re- 
fused him,  I'm  certain  of  that ;  and  the  other  thing  is, 
that  young  Carvalho  has  been  insolent  enough  to  make 
you  an  offer."  '   ' 

I  said  nothing. 


CARVALHO.  285 

"  What  did  you  answer  him  ?" 

"  That  I  would  reply  by  letter." 

"  Sit  down,  tlien,  and  write  as  I  tell  you." 

I  sat  down  mechanically.  Mamma  began  dictating. 
I  cried  as  I  wrote,  but  I  wrote  it.  I  know  now  how 
very  shameful  and  wrong  it  was  of  me  ;  but  I  was  only 
eighteen,  and  I  was  accustomed  to  do  as  mamma  told 
me  in  everything.  She  had  a  terrible  will,  you  know, 
and  a  terrible  temper. 

*'  *  Dear  Mr.  Carvalho  *  (you'd  better  begin  so,  or 
he'll  know  I  dictated  it), — '  I  was  too  much  surprised  at 
your  strange  conduct  last  night  to  give  you  an  answer 
immediately.  On  thinking  it  over,  I  can  only  say  I 
am  astonished  you  should  have  supposed  such  a  thing 
as  you  suggested  lay  within  the  bounds  of  possibility. 
In  future,  it  will  be  well  that  we  should  avoid  one  an- 
other. Our  spheres  are  different.  Pray  do  not  repeat 
your  mistake  of  last  evening. — Yours  truly,  E.  Hazle- 
den.'     Have  you  put  all  that  down  ?'* 

"  Mamma,"  I  cried,  "it  is  abominable.  It  isn't  true. 
I  can't  sign  it." 

'*  Sign  it,"  said  my  mother  briefly. 

I  took  the  pen  and  did  so. 

"  You  will  break  my  heart,  mamma,"  I  said.  "  You 
will  break  my  heart  and  kill  me." 

"  It  shall  go  first  thing  to-morrow,"  said  my  mother, 
taking  no  notice  of  my  words.  "  And  now,  Edith,  you 
shall  marry  Harry  Verner." 


286  STRANGE   STORIES. 


II. 


Seven  years  are  a  large  slice  out  of  one's  life,  and 
the  seven  years  spent  in  fighting  poor  dear  mamma 
over  that  fixed  project  were  not  happy  ones.  But  on 
that  point  nothing  on  earth  would  bend  me.  I  would 
not  marry  Harry  Verner.  At  last,  after  poor  mam- 
ma's sudden  death,  I  thought  it  best  to  sell  the  rem- 
nant of  the  estate  for  what  it  would  fetch,  and  go  back 
to  England.  I  was  twenty-five  then,  and  had  slowly 
learnt  to  have  a  will  of  my  own  meanwhile.  But  dur- 
ing all  that  time  I  hardly  ever  heard  again  of  Ernest 
Carvalho.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  I  was  told  he  had 
taken  a  distinguished  place  at  Cambridge,  and  had 
gone  to  the  bar  in  the  Temple  ;  but  that  was  all. 

A  month  or  two  after  my  return  to  London  my 
aunt  Emily  (who  was  not  one  of  the  West  Indian  side 
of  the  house)  managed  to  get  me  an  invitation  to  Mrs. 
Bouverie  Barton's.  Of  course  you  know  Mrs.  Bou- 
verie  Barton,  the  famous  novelist,  whose  books  every- 
body talks  about.  Well,  Mrs.  Barton  lives  in  Eaton 
Place,  and  gives  charming  Thursday  evening  recep- 
tions, which  are  the  recognized  rendezvous  of  all  liter- 
ary and  artistic  London.  If  there  is  a  celebrity  in 
town,  from  Paris  or  Vienna,  Timbuctoo  or  the  South 
Sea  Islands,  you  are  sure  to  meet  him  in  the  little 
back  drawing-room  at  Eaton  Place.  The  music  there 
is  always  of  the  best,  and  the  conversation  of  the  clev- 
erest. But  what  pleased  me  most  on  that  occasion 
was  the  fact  that  Mr.  Gerard  Llewellyn,  the  author  of 
that  singular  book  "  Peter  Martindale,"  was  to  be  the 


CARVALHO.  287 

lion  of  the  party  on  this  particular  Thursday.  I  had 
just  been  reading  "  Peter  Martindale  " — who  had  not, 
that  season  ?  for  it  was  the  rage  of  the  day — and  I  had 
never  read  any  novel  before  which  so  impressed  me  by 
its  weird  power,  its  philosophical  insight,  and  its  trans- 
parent depth  of  moral  earnestness.  So  I  was  naturally 
very  much  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  and  meet- 
ing so  famous  a  man  as  Mr.  Gerard  Llewellyn. 

When  we  entered  Mrs.  Bouverie  Barton's  handsome 
rooms,  we  saw  a  great  crowd  of  people  whom  even  the 
most  unobservant  stranger  would  instantly  have  recog- 
nized as  out  of  the  common  run.  There  was  the 
hostess  herself,  with  her  kindly  smile  and  her  friendly 
good-humored  manner,  hardly,  if  at  all,  concealing 
the  profound  intellectual  strength  that  lay  latent  in 
her  calm  gray  eyes.  There  were  artistic  artists  and 
rugged  artists ;  satirical  novelists  and  gay  novelists ; 
heavy  professors  and  deep  professors — every  possible 
representative  of  "  literature,  science,  and  art."  At 
first,  I  was  put  off  with  introductions  to  young  poet- 
asters, and  gentlemen  with  an  interest  in  cuneiform  in- 
scriptions ;  but  I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  get  a 
talk  with  Mr.  Gerard  Llewellyn  ;  and  to  Mr.  Gerard 
Llewellyn  our  hostess  at  last  promised  to  introduce 
me.  She  crossed  the  room  in  search  of  him  near  the 
big  fireplace. 

A  tall,  handsome  young  man,  with  long  mustache 
and  beard,  and  piercing  black  eyes,  stood  somewhat 
listlessly  leaning  against  the  mantelshelf,  and  talking 
with  an  even,  brilliant  flow  to  a  short,  stout,  Indian- 
looking  gentleman  at  his  side.  I  knew  in  a  moment 
that  the  short  stout  gentleman  must  be  Mr.  Llewellyn, 
for  in  all  the  tall  young  man,  in  spite  of  seven  years 


288  STRANGE  STORIES. 

and  the  long  mustaches,  I  recognized  at  once  Ernest 
Carvalho. 

But  to  my  surprise  Mrs.  Bouverie  Barton  brought 
the  tall  young  man,  and  not  his  neighbor,  across  the 
room  with  her.  She  must  have  made  a  mistake,  I 
thought.  "  Mr.  Carvalho,"  she  said,  •*  I  want  you  to 
come  and  be  introduced  to  the  lady  on  the  ottoman. 
Miss  Hazleden,  Mr.  Carvalho!" 

"  I  have  met  Mr.  Carvalho  long  ago  in  Jamaica,"  I 
said  warmly,  **  but  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  meet  him 
here  again.  However,  I  hardly  expected  to  see  him 
here  this  evening." 

*'  Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Barton,  with  some  surprise  in 
her  tone  ;  '  I  thought  you  asked  to  be  introduced  to 
the  author  of  *  Peter  Martindale.'  " 

"  So  I  did,"  I  answered ;  "  but  I  understood  his 
name  was  Llewellyn." 

"Oh!"  said  Ernest  Carvalho,  quickly,  "that  is  only 
my  nom  de  plume.  But  the  authorship  is  an  open 
secret  now,  and  I  suppose  Mrs.  Barton  thought  you 
knew  it." 

"  It  is  a  happy  chance,  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Carvalho,"  I 
said,  "  which  has  thrown  us  two  again  together." 

He  bowed  gravely  and  with  dignity.  "You  are  very 
kind  to  say  so,"  he  said.  "  It  is  always  a  pleasure  to 
meet  old  acquaintances  from  Jamaica." 

My  heart  beat  violently.  There  was  a  studied  cold- 
ness in  his  tone,  I  thought,  and  no  wonder ;  but  if  I 
had  been  in  love  with  Ernest  Carvalho  before,  I  felt  a 
thousand  more  times  in  love  with  him  now  as  he  stood 
there  in  his  evening  dress,  a  perfect  English  gentleman. 
He  looked  so  kinglike  with  his  handsome,  slightly 
Jewish  features,  his  piercing  black  eyes,  his  long  mus- 


CARVALHO.  289 

taches,  and  his  beautiful  delicate  thin-lipped  mouth. 
There  was  such  an  air  of  power  in  his  forehead,  such  a 
speaking  evidence  of  high  culture  in  his  general  ex- 
pression. And  then,  he  had  written  "  Peter  Martin- 
dale  !"  Why,  who  else  could  possibly  have  written  it  ? 
I  wondered  at  my  own  stupidity  in  not  having  guessed 
the  authorship  at  once.  But,  most  terrible  of  all,  I 
had  probably  lost  his  love  for  ever.  I  might  once 
have  called  Ernest  Carvalho  my  husband,  and  I  had 
utterly  alienated  him  by  a  single  culpable  act  of  fool- 
ish weakness. 

*'  You  are  living  in  London,  now  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  we  have  a  little  home  of  our 
own  in  Kensington.  I  am  working  on  the  staff  of  the 
Morning  Deto?iater.'* 

"  Mrs.  Carvalho  is  here  this  evening,"  said  Mrs. 
Bouverie  Barton.  "  Do  you  know  her  ?  I  suppose  you 
do,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Carvalho !  As  I  heard  the  name,  I  was  con- 
scious of  a  deep  but  rapid  thud,  thud,  thud  in  my  ear, 
and  after  a  moment  it  struck  me  that  the  thud  came 
from  the  quick  beating  of  my  own  heart.  Then  Ernest 
Carvalho  was  married  ! 

"  No,"  he  said  in  reply,  seeing  that  I  did  not  answer 

immediately.     "  Miss   Hazleden  has  never  met  her,  I 

believe  ;  but  I  shall  be   happy  to  introduce  her  ;"  and 

.he  turned  to  a  sofa  where  two  or  three  ladies  were 

chatting  together,  a  little  in  the  corner. 

A  very  queenly  old  lady,  with  snow-white  hair,  pret- 
tily covered  in  part  by  a  dainty  and  becoming  lace 
cap,  held  out  her  small  white  hand  to  me  with  a  gra- 
cious smile.  "  My  mother,"  Ernest  Carvalho  said 
quietly ;  and  I  took  the  proffered  hand  with  a  warmth 


290  STRANGE   STORIES. 

that  must  have  really  surprised  the  slave-born  octa- 
roon.  The  one  thought  that  was  uppermost  in  my 
mind  was  just  this,  that  after  all  Ernest  Carvalho  was 
7iot  married.  Once  more  I  heard  the  thud  in  my  ear, 
and  nothing  else. 

As  soon  as  I  could  notice  anybody  or  anything  ex- 
cept myself,  I  began  to  observe  that  Mrs.  Carvalho 
was  very  handsome.  She  was  rather  dark,  to  be  sure, 
but  less  so  than  many  Spanish  or  Italian  ladies  I  had 
seen  ;  and  her  look  and  manner  were  those  of  a  Louis 
Quinze  marquise,  with  a  distinct  reminiscence  of  the 
stately  old  Haitian-French  politeness.  She  could  never 
have  had  any  education  except  what  she  had  picked  up 
for  herself ;  but  no  one  would  suspect  the  deficiency 
now,  for  she  was  as  clever  as  all  half-castes,  and  had 
made  the  best  of  her  advantages  meanwhile,  such  as 
they  were.  When  she  talked  about  the  literary  Lon- 
don in  which  her  son  lived  and  moved,  I  felt  like  the 
colonial-bred  ignoramus  I  really  was;  and  when  she 
told  me  they  had  just  been  to  visit  Mr.  Fradelli's  new 
picture  at  the  studio,  I  was  positively  too  ashamed  to 
let  her  see  that  I  had  never  in  my  life  heard  of  that 
famous  painter  before.  To  think  that  that  queenly 
old  lady  was  still  a  slave  girl  at  Palmettos  when  my 
poor  dear  mother  was  a  little  child  !  And  to  think,  too, 
that  my  own  family  would  have  kept  her  a  slave  all 
her  life  long,  if  only  they  had  had  the  power  !  I 
remembered  at  once  with  a  blush  what  Ernest  Car- 
valho had  said  to  me  the  last  tine  I  saw  him,  about 
the  people  with  whom  the  guilt  and  shame  of  slavery 
really  rested. 

I  sat  half   in  a  maze,  talking  with  Mrs.  Carvalho  all 
the  rest  o.  that  evening.     Ernest  lingered   near  for  a 


CARVALHO.  291 

while,  as  if  to  see  what  impression  his  mother  pro- 
duced upon  me,  but  soon  went  off,  proudly  I  thought, 
to  another  part  of  the  room,  where  he  got  into  conver- 
sation with  the  German  gentleman  who  wore  the  big 
blue  wire-guarded  spectacles.  Yet  I  fancied  he  kept 
looking  half  anxiously  in  our  direction  throughout  the 
evening,  and  I  was  sure  I  saw  him  catch  his  mother's 
eye  furtively  now  and  again.  As  for  Mrs.  Carvalho, 
she  made  a  conquest  of  me  at  once,  and  she  was  evi- 
dently well  pleased  with  her  conquest.  When  I  rose 
to  leave,  she  took  both  my  hands  in  hers,  and  said  to 
me  warmly,  "  Miss  Hazelden,  we  shall  be  so  pleased  to 
see  you  whenever  you  like  to  come,  at  Merton  Gar- 
dens." Had  Ernest  ever  told  her  of  his  proposal  ?  I 
wondered. 

Mrs.  Bouverie  Barton  was  very  kind  to  me.  She 
kept  on  asking  me  to  her  Thursday  evenings,  and  there 
time  after  time  I  met  Ernest  Carvalho.  At  first,  he 
seldom  spoke  to  me  much,  but  at  last,  partly  because 
I  always  talked  so  much  to  his  mother  perhaps,  he 
began  to  thaw  a  little,  and  often  came  up  to  me  in 
quite  a  friendly  way.  **  We  have  left  Jamaica  and  all 
that  behind.  Miss  Hazleden,"  he  said  once,  "  and  here 
in  free  England  we  may  at  least  be  friends."  Oh,  how 
I  longed  to  explain  the  whole  truth  to  him,  and  how 
impossible  an  explanation  was.  Besides,  he  had  seen 
so  many  other  girls  since,  and  very  likely  his  boyish 
fancy  for  me  had  long  since  passed  away  altogether. 
You  can't  count  much  on  the  love-making  of  eighteen 
and  twenty. 

Mrs.  Carvalho  asked  me  often  to  their  pretty  little 
house  in  Merton  Gardens,  and  I  went ;  but  still  Ernest 
never  in  any  way  alluded  to  what  had  passed.    Months 


292  STRANGE  STORIES. 

went  by,  and  I  began  to  feel  that  I  must  crush  that 
little  dream  entirely  out  of  my  heart— if  I  could.  One 
afternoon  I  went  in  to  Mrs.  Carvalho's  for  a  cuf  of 
five-o'clock  tea,  and  had  an  uninterrupted  tHe-h-tite 
with  her  for  half  an  hour.  We  had  been  exchanging 
small  confidences  with  one  another  for  a  while,  and 
after  a  pause  the  old  lady  laid  her  gentle  hand  upon 
my  head  and  stroked  back  my  hair  in  such  a  motherly 
fashion.  "  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  half-sighing,  "  I 
do  wish  my  Ernest  would  only  take  a  fancy  to  a  sweet 
young  girl  like  you." 

**  Mr.  Carvalho  does  not  seem  quite  a  marrying 
man,"  I  answered,  forcing  a  laugh  ;  "  I  notice  he  seldom 
talks  to  ladies,  but  always  to  men,  and  those  of  the 
solemnest." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  he  has  had  a  great  disappointment, 
a  terrible  disappointment,"  said  the  mother,  unburden- 
ing herself.  "  I  can  tell  you  all  about  it,  for  you  are  a 
Jamaican  born,  and  though  you  are  one  of  the  *  proud 
Palmettos'  people  you  are  not  full  of  prejudices  like 
the  rest  of  them,  and  so  you  will  understand  it.  Before 
we  left  Jamaica  he  was  in  love  with  a  young  lady 
there ;  he  never  told  me  her  name,  and  that  is  the  one 
secret  he  has  ever  kept  from  me.  Well,  he  talked  to 
her  often,  and  he  thought  she  was  above  the  wicked 
prejudices  of  race  and  color  ;  she  seemed  to  encourage 
him  and  to  be  fond  of  his  society.  At  last  he  proposed 
to  her.  Then  she  wrote  him  a  cruel,  cruel  letter,  a 
letter  that  he  never  showed  me,  but  he  told  me  what 
was  in  it ;  and  it  drove  him  away  from  the  island  im- 
mediately. It  was  a  letter  full  of  wicked  reproaches 
about  our  octaroon  blood,  and  it  broke  his  heart  with 


CARVALHO.  293 

the  shock  of  its  heartlessness.     He  has  never  cared  for 
any  woman  since." 

"  Then  does  he  love  her  still  ?**  I  asked,  breathless. 

"  How  can  he  ?  No  !  but  he  says  he  loves  the  mem- 
ory of  what  he  once  thought  her.  He  has  seen  her 
since,  somewhere  in  London,  and  spoken  to  her ;  but 
he  can  never  love  her  again.  Yet,  do  you  know,  I  feel 
sure  he  cannot  help  loving  her  in  spite  of  himself ;  and 
he  often  goes  out  at  night,  I  am  sure,  to  watch  her 
door,  to  see  her  come  in  and  out,  for  the  sake  of  the 
love  he  once  bore  her.  My  Ernest  is  not  the  sort  of 
man  who  can  love  twice  in  a  lifetime." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  said,  coloring,  "  if  he  were  to  ask  her 
again  she  might  accept  him.  Things  are  so  different 
here  in  England,  and  he  is  a  famous  man  now." 

Mrs.  Carvalho  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  Oh,  no !" 
she  answered  ;  "  he  would  never  importune  or  trouble 
her.  Though  she  has  rejected  him,  he  is  too  loyal  to 
the  love  he  once  bore  her,  too  careful  of  wounding  her 
feelings  or  even  her  very  prejudices,  ever  to  obtrude  his 
love  again  upon  her  notice.  If  she  cannot  love  him  of 
herself  and  for  himself,  spontaneously,  he  would  not 
weary  her  out  with  oft  asking.  He  will  never  marry 
now;  of  that  I  am  certain." 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears.  As  they  did  so,  I  tried 
to  brush  them  away  unseen  behind  my  fan,  but  Mrs. 
Carvalho  caught  my  glance,  and  looked  sharply  through 
me  with  a  sudden  gleam  of  discovery.  "  Why,"  she 
said  very  slowly  and  distinctly,  with  a  pause  and  a 
stress  upon  each  word,  '*  I  believe  it  must  have  been  you 
yourself.  Miss  Hazleden."  And  as  she  spoke  she  held 
her  open  hand,  palm  outward,  stretched  against  me 


294  ,  STRANGE   STORIES. 

with  a  gesture  of  horror,  as  one  might  shrink  in  alarm 
from  a  coiled  rattlesnake. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Carvalno,"  I  cried,  clasping  my  hands 
before  her,  "  do  hear  me,  I  entreat  you  ;  do  let  me 
explain  to  you  how  it  all  happened." 

"  There  is  no  explanation  possible,"  she  answered 
sternly.  "Go.  You  have  wrecked  a  life  that  might 
otherwise  have  been  happy  and  famous,  and  then  you 
come  to  a  mother  with  an  explanation  !" 

"  That  letter  was  not  mine,"  I  said  boldly  ;  for  I  saw 
that  to  put  the  truth  shortly  in  that  truest  and 
briefest  form  was  the  only  way  of  getting  her  to 
listen  to  me  now. 

She  sank  back  in  a  chair  and  folded  her  hands 
faintly  one  above  the  other.  "  Tell  me  it  all,"  she 
said  in  a  weak  voice.     **  I  will  hear  you." 

So  I  told  her  all.  I  did  not  try  to  extenuate  my 
own  weakness  in  writing  from  my  mother's  dictation  ; 
but  I  let  her  see  what  I  had  suffered  then  and  what  I 
had  suffered  since.  When  I  had  finished,  she  drew  me 
towards  her  gently,  and  printed  one  kiss  upon  my 
forehead.  "  It  is  hard  to  forget,"  she  said  softly,  "  but 
you  were  very  young  and  helpless,  and  your  mother 
was  a  terrible  woman.  The  iron  has  entered  into  your 
own  soul  too.  Go  home,  dear,  and  I  will  see  about 
this  matter." 

We  fell  upon  one  another's  necks,  the  Palmettos 
slave-girl  and  I,  and  cried  together  glad  tears  for  ten 
minutes.  Then  I  wiped  my  red  eyes  dry,  covered 
them  with  a  double  fold  of  my  veil,  and  ran  home 
hurriedly  in  the  dusk  to  auntie's.  It  was  such  a 
terrible  relief  to  have  got  it  all  over. 

That  evening  about  eleven  o'clock,  auntie  had  gone 


CARVALHO.  295 

to  bed,  and  I  was  sitting  up  by  myself,  musing  late 
over  tl:e  red  cinders  in  the  little  back  drawing-room 
grate.  I  felt  as  though  I  couldn't  sleep,  and  so  I  was 
waiting  up  till  I  got  sleepy.  Suddenly  there  came  a 
loud  knock  and  a  ring  at  the  bell,  after  which  Amelia 
ran  in  to  say  that  a  gentleman  wanted  to  see  me  in 
the  dining-room  on  urgent  business,  and  would  I 
please  come  down  to  speak  with  him  immediately.  I 
knew  at  once  it  was  Ernest. 

The  moment  I  entered  the  room,  he  never  said  a 
word,  but  he  took  my  two  hands  eagerly  in  his,  and 
then  he  kissed  me  fervently  on  the  lips  half  a  dozen 
times  over.  "  And  now,  Edith,"  he  said,  "  we  need 
say  no  more  about  the  past,  for  my  mother  has 
explained  it  all  to  me  ;  we  will  only  think  about  the 
future." 

I  have  no  distinct  recollection  what  o'clock  it  was 
before  Ernest  left  that  evening  ;  but  I  know  auntie 
sent  down  word  twice  to  say  it  was  high  time  I  went 
to  bed,  and  poor  Amelia  looked  awfully  tired  and 
very  sleepy.  However,  it  was  settled  then  and  there 
that  Ernest  and  I  should  be  married  early  in  October. 

A  few  days  later,  after  the  engagement  had  been 
announced  to  all  our  friends,  dear  Mrs.  Bouverie 
Barton  paid  me  a  congratulatory  call.  "  You  are  a 
very  lucky  girl,  my  dear,"  she  said  tome  kindly.  "We 
are  half  envious  of  you  ;  I  wish  we  could  find  another 
such  husband  as  Mr.  Carvalho  for  my  Christina.  But 
you  have  carried  off  the  prize  of  the  season,  and  you 
are  well  worthy  of  him.  It  is  a  very  great  honor  for 
any  girl  to  win  and  deserve  the  love  of  such  a  man  as 
Ernest  Carvalho." 

Will    you    believe    it,    so    strangely  do  one's  first 


296 


STRANGE  STORIES. 


impressions  and  early  ideas  about  people  cling  to  one, 
that  though  I  had  often  felt  before  how  completely 
the  tables  had  been  turned  since  we  two  came  to 
England,  it  had  not  struck  me  till  that  moment  that 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world  at  large  it  was  Ernest  who 
was  doing  an  honor  to  me  and  not  I  who  was  doing  an 
honor  to  Ernest.  I  felt  ashamed  to  think  that  Mrs. 
Bouverie  Barton  should  see  instinctively  the  true  state 
of  the  case,  while  I,  who  loved  and  admired  him  so 
greatly,  should  have  let  the  shadow  of  that  old  preju- 
dice stand  even  now  between  me  and  the  lover  I  was 
so  proud  to  own.  But  when  I  took  dear  old  Mrs. 
Carvalho's  hand  in  mine  the  day  of  our  wedding,  and 
kissed  her,  and  called  her  mother  for  the  first  time,  I 
felt  that  I  had  left  the  guilt  and  shame  of  slavery  for 
ever  behind  me,  and  that  I  should  strive  ever  after  to 
live  worthily  of  Ernest  Carvalho's  love. 


( . 


PAUSODYNE; 

A  GREAT   CHEMICAL   DISCOVERY. 

Walking  along  the  Strand  one  evening  last  year 
towards  Pall  Mall,  I  was  accosted  near  Charing  Cross 
Station  by  a  strange-looking,  middle-aged  man  in  a 
poor  suit  of  clothes,  who  surprised  and  startled  me  by 
asking  if  I  could  tell  him  from  what  inn  the  coach 
usually  started  for  York. 

"  Dear  me !"  I  said,  a  little  puzzled.  "  I  didn't 
know  there  was  a  coach  to  York.  Indeed,  I'm  almost 
certpin  there  isn't  one." 

The  man  looked  puzzled  and  surprised  in  turn. 
"  No  coach  to  York  ?"  he  muttered  to  himself,  half 
inarticulately.  "  No  coach  to  York  ?  How  things 
have  changed  !  I  wonder  whether  nobody  every  goes 
to  York  nowadays  !" 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  said,  anxious  to  discover  what  could 
be  his  meaning  ;  "  many  people  go  to  York  every  day, 
but  of  course  they  go  by  rail." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  answered  softly,  "  I  see.  Yes,  of 
course,  they  go  by  rail.  They  go  by  rail,  no  doubt. 
How  very  stupid  of  me  !"  And  he  turned  on  his  heel 
as  if  to  get  away  from  me  as  quickly  as  possible. 

I  can't  exactly  say  why,  but  I  felt  instinctively  that 
this  curious  stranger  was  trying  to  conceal  from  me 

r297] 


298  STRANGE   STORIES. 

his  ignorance  of  what  a  railway  really  was.  I  was 
quite  certain  from  the  way  in  which  he  spoke  that  he 
had  not  the  slightest  conception  what  I  meant,  and 
that  he  was  doing  his  best  to  hide  his  confusion  by 
pretending  to  understand  me.  Here  was  indeed  a 
strange  mystery.  In  the  latter  end  of  this  nineteenth 
century,  in  the  metropolis  of  industrial  England, 
within  a  stone's-throw  of  Charing  Cross  terminus,  I 
had  met  an  adult  Englishman  who  apparently  did  not 
know  of  the  existence  of  railways.  My  curiosity  was 
too  much  piqued  to  let  the  matter  rest  there.  I  must 
find  out  what  he  meant  by  it.  I  walked  after  him 
hastily,  as  he  tried  to  disappear  among  the  crowd,  and 
laid  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  to  his  evident 
chagrin. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  said,  drawing  him  aside  down  the 
corner  of  Craven  Street;  "you  did  not  understand 
what  I  meant  when  I  said  people  went  to  York  by 
rail?" 

He  looked  in  my  face  steadily,  and  then,  instead  of 
replying  to  my  remark,  he  said  slowly.  *'  Your  name 
is  Spottiswood,  I  believe  ?" 

Again  I  gave  a  start  of  surprise.  "  It  is,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "  but  I  never  remember  to  have  seen  you 
before." 

**  No,"  he  replied,  dreamily :  "  no,  we  have  never 
met  till  now,  no  doubt  ;  but  I  knew  your  father,  I'm 
sure  ;  or  perhaps  it  may  have  been  your  grand- 
father." 

"  Not  my  grandfather,  certainly,"  said  I,  "  for  he  was 
killed  at  Waterloo." 

"  At  Waterloo  !     Indeed  !     How  long  since,  pray  ?" 

I  could  not  refrain  from  laughing  outright.     "  Why, 


PAUSODYNE.  299 

of  course,"  I  answered,  "in  181 5.  There  has  been 
nothing  particular  to  kill  off  any  large  number  of  Eng- 
lishmen at  Waterloo  since  the  year  of  the  battle,  I 
suppose." 

"  True,"  he  muttered,  "  quite  true ;  so  I  should 
have  fancied."  But  I  saw  again  from  the  cloud  of 
doubt  and  bewilderment  which  came  over  his  intelli- 
gent face  that  the  name  of  Waterloo  conveyed  no  idea 
whatsoever  to  his  mind. 

Never  in  my  life  had  I  felt  so  utterly  confused  and 
astonished.  In  spite  of  his  poor  dress,  I  could  easily 
see  from  the  clear-cut  face  and  the  refined  accent  of 
my  strange  acquaintance  that  he  was  an  educated  gen- 
tleman— a  man  accustomed  to  mix  in  cultivated  soci- 
ety. Yet  he  clearly  knew  nothing  whatsoever  about 
railways,  and  was  ignorant  of  the  most  salient  facts  in 
English  history.  Had  I  suddenly  come  across  some 
Caspar  Hauser,  immured  for  years  in  a  private  prison, 
and  just  let  loose  upon  the  world  by  his  gaolers  ?  Or 
was  my  mysterious  stranger  one  of  the  Seven  Sleepers 
of-  Ephesus,  turned  out  unexpectedly  in  modern  cos- 
tume on  thestreetsof  London  ?  I  don't  suppose  there 
exists  on  earth  a  man  more  utterly  free  than  I  am 
from  any  tinge  of  superstition,  any  lingering  touch  of 
a  love  for  the  miraculous  ;  but  I  confess  for  a  moment 
I  felt  half  inclined  to  suppose  that  the  man  before  me 
must  have  drunk  the  elixir  of  life,  or  must  have  dropped 
suddenly  upon  earth  from  some  distant  planet. 

The  impulse  to  fathom  this  mystery  was  irresistible. 
I  drew  my  arm  through  his.  "  If  you  knew  my 
father,"  I  said,  "  you  will  not  object  to  come  into  my 
chambers  and  take  a  glass  of  wine  with  me." 

"  Thank    you,"    he    answered,    half     suspiciously ; 


300  STRANGE   STORIES. 

"  thank  you  very  much.  I  think  you  look  like  a  man 
who  can  be  trusted,  and  I  will  go  with  you." 

We  walked  along  the  Embankment  to  Adelphi  Ter- 
race, where  I  took  him  up  to  my  rooms,  and  seated 
him  in  my  easy-chair  near  the  window.  As  he  sat 
down,  one  of  the  trains  on  the  Metropolitan  line 
whirred  past  the  Terrace,  snorting  steam  and  whistling 
shrilly,  after  the  fashion  of  Metropolitan  engines  gen- 
erally. My  mysterious  stranger  jumped  back  in  alarm, 
and  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  some  immediate  catas- 
trophe. There  was  absolutely  no  possibility  of  doubt- 
ing it.  The  man  had  obviously  never  seen  a  locomotive 
before. 

"  Evidently,"  I  said,  "you  do  not  know  London.  I 
suppose  you  are  a  colonist  from  some  remote  district, 
perhaps  an  Australian  from  the  interior  somewhere, 
just  landed  at  the  Tower?" 

"  No,  not  an  Austrian  " — I  noted  his  misapprehen- 
sion— "  but  a  Londoner  born  and  bred." 

"  How  is  it,  then,  that  you  seem  never  to  have  seen 
an  engine  before  ?" 

"Can  I  trust  you  ?"  he  asked  in  a  piteously  plaintive, 
half-terrified  tone.  "  If  I  tell  you  all  about  it,  will  you 
at  least  not  aid  in  persecuting  and  imprisoning  me  ?" 

I  was  touched  by  his  evident  grief  and  terror.  "  No," 
I  answered,  "you  may  trust  me  implicitly.  I  feel 
sure  there  is  something  in  your  history  which  entitles 
you  to  sympathy  and  protection." 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  grasping  my  hand  warmly,  "  I 
will  tell  you  all  my  story  ;  but  you  must  be  prepared 
for  something  almost  too  startling  to  be  credible." 

"  My  name  is  Jonathan  Spottiswood,"  he  began 
calmly.       v,  . 


■v 


PAUSODYNE.  ^  301 

Again  I  experienced  a  marvellouis  start ;  Jonathan 
Spottiswood  was  the  name  of  my  great-great-uncle, 
whose  unaccountable  disappearance  from  London  just 
a  century  since  had  involved  our  family  in  so  much  pro- 
tracted litigation  as  to  the  succession  to  his  property. 
In  fact,  it  was  Jonathan  Spottiswood's  money  which 
at  that  moment  formed  the  'ou\k  of  my  little  fortune. 
But  I  would  not  interrupt  him,  so  great  was  my  anxiety 
to  hear  the  story  of  his  life. 

"I  was  born  in  London,"  he  went  on,  "in  1750.  If 
you  can  hear  me  say  that  and  yet  believe  that  possibly 
I  am  not  a  madman,  I  will  tell  you  the  rest  of  my  tale  ; 
if  not,  I  shall  go  at  once  and  for  ever." 

"  I  suspend  judgment  for  the  present,"  I  answered. 
"  What  you  say  is  extraordinary,  but  not  more  ex- 
traordinary perhaps  than  the  clear  anachronism  of 
your  ignorance  about  locomotives  in  the  midst  of  the 
present  century." 

"So  be  it,  the/.  Well,  I  will  tell  you  the  facts 
briefly  in  as  few  words  as  I  can.  I  was  always  much 
given  to  experimental  philosophy,  and  I  spent  most  of 
my  time  in  the  little  laboratory  which  I  had  built  for 
myself  behind  my  father's  house  in  the  Strand.  I  had 
a  small  independent  fortune  of  my  own,  left  me  by  an 
uncle  who  had  made  successful  ventures  in  the  China 
trade ;  and  as  I  was  indisposed  to  follow  my  father's 
profession  of  solicitor,  I  gave  myself  up  almost  entirely 
to  the  pursuit  of  natural  philosophy,  following  the  re- 
searches of  the  great  Mr.  Cavendish,  our  chief  English 
thinker  in  this  kind,  as  well  as  of  Monsieur  Lavoisier, 
the  ingenious  French  chemist,  and  of  my  friend  Dr. 
Priestley,  the  Birmingham  philosopher,  whose  new 
theory  of  phlogiston  I  have  been  much  concerned  to 


302  STRANGE   STORIES. 

consider  and  to  promulgate.  But  the  especial  subject 
to  which  I  devoted  myself  was  the  elucidation  of  the 
nature  of  fixed  air.  I  do  not  know  how  far  you  your- 
self may  happen  to  have  heard  respecting  these  late 
discoveries  in  chemical  science,  but  I  dare  venture  to 
say  that  you  are  at  least  acquainted  with  the  nature 
of  the  body  to  which  I  refer." 

**  Perfectly,"  I  answered  with  a  smile,  "though  your 
terminology  is  now  a  little  out  of  date.  Fixed  air  was, 
I  believe,  the  old-fashioned  name  for  carbonic  acid 
gas." 

"Ah,"  he  cried  vehemently,  "that  accursed  word 
again !  Carbonic  acid  has  undone  me,  clearly.  Yes, 
if  you  will  have  it  so,  that  seems  to  be  what  they  call 
it  in  this  extraordinary  century ;  but  fixed  air  was  the 
name  we  used  to  give  it  in  our  time,  and  fixed  air  is 
what  I  must  call  it,  of  course  in  telling  you  my  story. 
Well,  I  was  deeply  interested  in  this  curious  question, 
and  also  in  some  of  the  results  which  I  obtained  from 
working  with  fixed  air  in  combination  with  a  substance 
I  had  produced  from  the  essential  oil  of  a  weed 
known  to  us  in  England  as  lady's  mantle,  but  which 
the  learned  Mr.  Carl  Linna:us  describes  in  his  system 
as  Alchemilla  vulgaris.  .From  that  weed  I  obtained 
an  oil  which  I  combined  with  a  certain  decoction  of 
fixed  air  into  a  remarkable  compound  ;  and  to  this 
compound,  from  its  singular  properties,  I  proposed  to 
give  the  name  of  Pausodyne.  For  some  years  I  was 
almost  wholly  engaged  in  investigating  the  conduct  of 
this  remarkable  agent ;  and  lest  I  should  weary  you 
by  entering  into  too  much  detail,  I  may  as  well  say  at 
once  that  it  possessed  the  singular  power  of  entirely 
suspending  animation  in  men  or  animals  for  several 


PAUSODYNE.  303 

hours  together.  It  is  a  highly  volatile  oil,  like 
ammonia  in  smell,  but  much  thicker  in  gravity  ;  and 
when  held  to  the  nose  of  an  animal,  it  causes  immedi- 
ate stoppage  of  the  heart's  action,  makii.^  ♦^ac  body 
seem  quite  dead  for  long  periods  at  a  time.  But  the 
moment  a  mixture  of  the  pausodyne  with  oil  of  vitriol 
and  gum  resin  is  presented  to  the  nostrils,  the  animal 
instantaneously  revives  exactly  as  before,  showing  no 
sign  of  evil  effects  whatsoever  from  its  temporary 
simulation  of  death.  To  the  reviving  mixture  I  have 
given  the  appropriate  name  of  Anegeiric. 

**  Of  course  you  will  instantly  see  the  valuable  medi- 
cal applications  which  may  be  made  of  such  an  agent. 
I  used  it  at  first  for  experimenting  upon  the  amputa- 
tion of  limbs  and  other  surgical  operations.  It  suc- 
ceeded admirably.  I  found  that  a  dog  under  the  in- 
fluence of  pausodyne  suffered  his  leg,  which  had  been 
broken  in  a  street  accident,  to  be  set  and  spliced  with- 
out the  slightest  symptom  of  feeling  or  discomfort.  A 
cat  shot  with  a  pistol  by  a  cruel  boy,  had  the  bullet 
extracted  without  moving  a  muscle.  My  assistant, 
having  allowed  his  little  finger  to  mortify  from  neglect 
of  a  burn,  permitted  me  to  try  the  effect  of  my  discov- 
ery upon  himself ;  and  I  removed  the  injured  joints 
while  he  remained  in  a  state  of  complete  insensibility, 
so  that  he  could  hardly  believe  afterwards  in  the 
actual  truth  of  their  removal.  I  felt  certain  that  I 
had  invented  a  medical  process  of  the  very  highest 
and  greatest  utility. 

"All  this  took  place  in  or  before  the  year  1781. 
How  long  ago  that  may  be  according  to  your  modern 
reckoning  I  cannot  say ;  but  to  me  it  seems  hardly 
more  than  a  few  months  since,     Perhaps  you  would 

„  / 


304  STRANGE  STORIES. 

not  mind  telling  me  the  date  of  the  current  year.  I 
have  never  been  able  to  ascertain  it." 

**  This  is  1 88 1,"  I  said,  growing  every  moment  more 
interested  in  his  tale. 

**  Thank  you.  I  gathered  that  we  must  now  be 
somewhere  near  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
though  I  could  not  learn  the  exact  date  with  certainty. 
Well,  I  should  tell  you,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  had  con- 
tracted an  engagement  about  the  year  1779  with  a 
young  lady  of  most  remarkable  beauty  and  attractive 
mental  gifts,  a  Miss  Amelia  Spragg,  daughter  of  the 
well-known  General  Sir  Thomas  Spragg,  with  whose 
achievements  you  are  doubtless  familiar.  Pardon 
me,  my  friend  of  another  age,  pardon  me,  I  beg  of 
you,  if  I  cannot  allude  to  this  subject  without  emotion 
after  a  lapse  of  time  which  to  you  doubtless  seems  like 
a  century,  but  is  to  me  a  matter  of  some  few  months 
only  at  the  utmost.  I  feel  towards  her  as  towards  one 
whom  I  have  but  recently  lost,  though  I  now  find  that 
she  has  been  dead  for  more  than  eighty  years."  As 
he  spoke,  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes  profusely  ;  and 
I  could  see  that  under  the  external  calmness  and 
quaintness  of  his  eighteenth  century  language  and  de- 
meanor his  whole  nature  was  profoundly  stirred  at  the 
thought  of  his  lost  love. 

*'  Look  here,"  he  continued,  taking  from  his  breast 
a  large,  old-fashioned  gold  locket  containing  a  minia- 
ture ;  "  that  is  her  portrait,  by  Mr.  Walker,  and  a  very 
truthful  likeness  indeed.  They  left  me  that  when  they 
took  away  my  clothes  at  the  Asylum,  for  I  would  not 
consent  to  part  with  it,  and  the  pb^-sician  in  attend- 
ance observed  that  to  deprive  me  of  it  might  only  in- 
crease the  frequency  and  violence  of  my  paroxysms. 


PAUSODYNE.  305 

For  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  the  fact  that  I  have 
just  escaped  from  a  pauper  lunatic  establishment." 

I  took  the  miniature  which  he  handed  me,  and  looked 
at  it  closely.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  young  and  beau- 
tiful girl,  with  the  features  and  costume  of  a  Sir  Joshua. 
I  recognized  the  face  at  once  as  that  of  a  lady  whose 
portrait  by  Gainsborough  hangs  on  the  walls  of  my 
uncle's  dining-room  at  Whittingham  Abbey.  It  was 
strange  indeed  to  hear  a  living  man  speak  of  himself  as 
the  former  lover  of  this,  to  me,  historic  personage. 

"Sir  Thomas,  however,"  he  went  on,  "was  much  op- 
posed to  our  union,  on  the  ground  of  some  real  or 
fancied  social  disparity  in  our  positions  ;  but  I  at  last 
obtained  his  conditional  consent,  if  only  I  could  suc- 
ceed in  obtaining  the  Fellowship  of  the  Royal  Society, 
which  might,  he  thought,  be  accepted  as  a  passport 
into  that  fashionable  circle  of  which  he  was  a  member. 
Spurred  on  by  this  ambition,  and  by  the  encourage- 
ment of  my  Amelia,  I  worked  day  and  night  at  the 
perfectioning  of  my  great  discovery,  which  I  was 
assured  would  bring  not  only  honor  and  dignity  to 
myself,  but  also  the  alleviation  and  assuagement  of 
pain  to  countless  thousands  of  my  fellow-creatures.  I 
concealed  the  nature  of  my  experiments,  however,  lest 
any  rival  investigator  should  enter  the  field  with  me 
prematurely,  and  share  the  credit  to  which  I  alone  was 
really  entitled.  For  some  months  I  was  successful  in 
my  efforts  at  concealment ;  but  in  March  of  this  year — 
I  mistake;  of  the  year  1781,  I  should  say — an  unfor- 
tunate circumstance  caused  me  to  take  special  and 
exceptional  precautions  against  intrusion. 

"  I  was  then  conducting  my  experiments  upon  living 
animals,  and  especially  upon  the  extirpation  of  certain 


(■■ 


3o6  STRANGE  STORIES. 

painful  internal  diseases  to  which  they  are  subject.  I 
had  a  number  of  suffering  cats  in  my  laboratory,  which 
I  had  treated  with  pausodyne,  and  stretched  out  on 
boards  for  the  purpose  of  removing  the  tumors  with 
which  they  were  afflicted.  I  had  no  doubt  that  in  this 
manner,  while  directly  benefiting  the  animal  creation, 
I  should  indirectly  obtain  the  necessary  skill  to  operate 
successfully  upon  human  beings  in  similar  circum- 
stances. Already  I  had  completely  cured  several  cats 
without  any  pain  whatsoever,  and  I  was  anxious  to  pro- 
ceed to  the  human  subject.  Walking  one  morning  in 
the  Strand,  I  found  a  beggar  woman  outside  a  gin- 
shop,  quite  drunk,  with  a  small,  ill-clad  child  by  her 
side,  suffering  the  most  excruciating  torments  from  a 
perfectly  remediable  cause.  I  induced  the  mother  to 
accompany  me  to  my  laboratory,  and  there  I  treated 
the  poor  little  creature  with  pausodyne,  and  began  to 
operate  upon  her  with  perfect  confidence  of  success. 

**  Unhappily,  my  laboratory  had  excited  the  suspicion 
of  many  ill-disposed  persons  among  the  low  mob  of  the 
neighborhood.  It  was  whispered  abroad  that  I  was 
what  they  called  a  vivisectionist ;  and  these  people, 
who  would  willingly  have  attended  a  bull-baiting  or  a 
prize  fight,  found  themselves  of  a  sudden  wondrous 
humane  when  scientific  procedure  was  under  consider- 
ation. Besides,  I  had  made  myself  unpopular  by  re- 
ceiving visits  from  my  friend  Dr.  Priestley,  whose 
religious  opinions  were  not  satisfactory  to  the  strict 
orthodoxy  of  St.  Giles's.  I  was  rumored  to  be  a  phil- 
osopher, a  torturer  of  live  animals,  and  an  atheist. 
Whether  the  former  accusation  were  true  or  not,  let 
others  decide ;  the  two  latter,  heaven  be  my  witness, 
were  wholly  unfounded.     However,  when  the  neigh- 


''  %■ 


PAUSODYNE.  307 

boring  raoble  saw  a  drunken  worn.  i  with  a  little  girl 
entering  my  door,  a  report  got  abroad  at  once  that  I 
was  going  to  vivisect  a  Christian  child.  The  mob  soon 
collected  in  force,  and  broke  into  the  laboratory.  At 
that  moment  I  was  engaged,  with  my  assistant,  in 
operating  upon  the  girl,  while  several  cats,  all  com- 
pletely anaestheticized,  were  bound  down  on  the  boards 
around,  awaiting  the  healing  of  their  wounds  after  the 
removal  of  tumors.  At  the  sight  of  such  apparent  tor- 
tures the  people  grew  wild  with  rage,  and  happening 
in  their  transports  to  fling  down  a  large  bottle  of  the 
anegeiric,  or  reviving  mixture,  the  child  and  the  ani- 
mals all  at  once  recovered  consciousness,  and  began  of 
course  to  writhe  and  scream  with  acute  pain.  I  need 
not  describe  to  you  the  scene  that  ensued.  My  labor- 
atory was  wrecked,  my  assistant  severely  injured,  and 
I  myself  barely  escaped  with  my  life. 

"  After  this  contretemps  I  determined  to  be  more 
cautious.  I  took  the  lease  of  a  new  house  at  Hamp- 
stead,  and  in  the  garden  I  determined  to  build  myself 
a  subterranean  laboratory  where  I  might  be  absolute- 
ly free  from  intrusion.  I  hired  some  laborers  from 
Bath  for  this  purpose,  and  I  explained  to  them  the 
nature  of  my  wishes,  and  the  absolute  necessity  of 
secrecy.  A  high  wall  surrounded  the  garden,  and 
here  the  workmen  worked  securely  and  unseen.  I 
concealed  my  design  even  from  my  dear  brother — 
whose  great-grandson  I  suppose  you  must  be — and 
when  the  building  was  finished,  I  sent  my  men  back 
to  Bath,  with  strict  injunctions  never  to  mention  the 
matter  to  any  one.  A  trapdoor  in  the  cellar,  artfully 
concealed,  gave  access  to  the  passage  ;  a  large  oak 
portal,  bound  with  iron,  shut  me  securely  in  ;  and  my 


308  STRANGE  STORIES. 

air  supply  was  obtained  by  means  of  pipes  communi- 
cating through  blank  spaces  in  the  brick  wall  of  the 
garden  with  the  outer  atmosphere.  Every  arrange- 
ment for  concealment  was  perfect ;  and  I  resolved  in 
future,  till  my  results  were  perfectly  established,  that 
I  would  dispense  with  the  aid  of  an  assistant. 

"  I  was  in  high  spirits  when  I  went  to  visit  my 
Amelia  that  evening,  and  I  told  her  confidently  that 
before  the  end  of  the  year  I  expected  to  gain  the  gold 
medal  of  the  Royal  Society.  The  dear  girl  was  pleased 
at  my  glowing  prospects,  and  gave  me  every  assur- 
ance of  the  delight  with  which  she  hailed  the  proba- 
bility of  our  approaching  union. 

"  Next  day  I  began  my  experiments  afresh  in  my 
new  quarters.  I  bolted  myself  into  the  laboratory, 
and  set  to  work  with  renewed  vigor.  I  was  experi- 
menting upon  an  injured  dog,  and  I  placed  a  large 
bottle  of  pausodyne  beside  me  as  I  administered  the 
drug  to  his  nostrils.  The  rising  fumes  seemed  to  af- 
fect my  head  more  than  usual  in  that  confined  space, 
and  I  tottered  a  little  as  I  worked.  My  arm  grew 
weaker,  and  at  last  fell  powerless  to  my  side.  As  it 
fell  it  knocked  down  the  large  bottle  of  pausodyne, 
and  I  saw  the  liquid  spreading  over  the  floor.  That 
was  almost  the  last  thing  that  I  knew.  I  staggered 
toward  the  door,  but  did  not  reach  it ;  and  then  I  re^. 
member  nothing  more  for  a  considerable  period." 

He  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  sleeve — he  had  no 
handkerchief — and  then  proceeded. 

"  When  I  woke  up  again  the  effects  of  the  pausodyne 
had  worn  themselves  out,  and  I  felt  that  I  must  have 
remained  unconscious  for  at  least  a  week  or  a  fort- 
night.    My  candle  had  gone  out,  and  I  could  not  find 


PAUSODYNE.  309 

my  tinderbox.  I  rose  up  slowly  and  with  difficulty, 
for  the  air  of  the  room  was  close  and  filled  with  fumes, 
and  made  my  way  in  the  dark  towards  the  door.  To 
my  surprise,  the  bolt  was  so  stiff  with  rust  that  it  would 
hardly  move.  I  opened  it  after  a  struggle,  and  found 
myself  in  the  passage.  Groping  my  way  towards  the 
trapdoor  of  the  cellar,  I  felt  it  was  obstructed  by 
some  heavy  body.  With  an  immense  effort,  for  my 
strength  seemed  but  feeble,  I  pushed  it  up,  and  dis- 
covered that  a  heap  of  sea-coals  lay  on  top  of  it.  I 
extricated  myself  into  the  cellar,  and  there  a  fresh  sur- 
prise awaited  me.  A  new  entrance  had  been  made  in- 
to the  front,  so  that  I  walked  out  at  once  upon  the 
open  road,  instead  of  up  the  stairs  into  the  kitchen. 
Looking  up  at  the  exterior  of  my  house,  my  brain 
reeled  with  bewilderment  when  I  saw  that  it  had  dis- 
appeared almost  entirely,  and  that  a  different  porch 
and  wholly  unfamiliar  windows  occupied  its  fagade. 
I  must  have  slept  far  longer  than  I  at  first  imagined — 
perhaps  a  whole  year  or  more.  A  vague  terror  pre- 
vented me  from  walking  up  the  steps  of  my  own  home. 
Possibly  my  brother,  thinking  me  dead,  might  have 
sold  the  lease ;  possibly  some  stranger  might  resent 
my  intrusion  into  the  house  that  was  now  his  own. 
At  any  rate,  I  thought  it  safer  to  walk  into  the  road. 
I  would  go  towards  London,  to  my  brother's  house  in 
St.  Mary  le  Bone.  I  turned  into  the  Hampstead 
Road,  and  directed  my  steps  thitherward. 

"  Again,  another  surprise  began  to  affect  me  with  a 
horrible  and  ill-defined  sense  of  awe.  Not  a  single 
object  that  I  saw  was  really  familiar  to  me.  I  rec- 
ognized that  I  was  in  the  Hampstead  Road,  but  it  was 
not  the  Hampstead  Road  which  I  used  to  know  before 


310  STRANGE   STORIES. 

my  fatal  experiments.  The  houses  were  far  more 
numerous,  the  trees  were  bigger  and  older.  A  year, 
nay,  even  a  few  years  would  not  have  sufficed  for  such 
a  change.  I  began  to  fear  that  I  had  slept  away  a 
whole  decade. 

"  It  was  early  morning,  and  few  people  were  yet 
abroad.  But  the  costume  of  those  whom  I  met 
seemed  strange  and  fantastic  to  me.  Moreover,  I 
noticed  that  they  all  turned  and  looked  after  me  with 
evident  surprise,  as  though  my  dress  caused  them 
quite  as  much  astonishment  as  theirs  caused  me.  I 
was  quietly  attired  in  my  snuff-colored  suit  of  small- 
clothes, with  silk  stockings  and  simple  buckle  shoes, 
and  I  had  of  course  no  hat  ;  but  I  gathered  that  my 
appearance  caused  universal  amazement  and  concern, 
far  more  than  could  be  justified  by  the  mere  accidental 
absence  of  headgear.  A  dread  began  to  oppress  me 
that  I  might  actually  have  slept  out  my  whole  age 
and  generation.  Was  my  Amelia  alive?  and  if  so, 
would  she  be  still  the  same  Amelia  I  had  known  a 
week  or  two  before  ?  Should  I  find  her  an  aged 
woman,  still  cherishing  a  reminiscence  of  her  former 
love  ;  or  might  she  herself  perhaps  be  dead  and  for- 
gotten, while  I  remained,  alone  and  solitary,  in  a  world 
which  knew  me  not  ? 

"  I  walked  along  unmolested,  but  with  reeling  brain, 
through  streets  more  and  more  unfamiliar,  till  I  came 
near  the  St.  Mary  Ic  Bone  Road.  There,  as  I  hesitated 
a  little  and  staggered  at  the  crossing,  a  man  in  a  curi- 
ous suit  of  dark  blue  clothes,  with  a  grotesque  felt 
helmet  on  his  head,  whom  I  afterwards  found  to  be  a 
constable,  came  up  and  touched  me  on  the  shoulder. 

"  *  Look  here,'  he  said   to   me  in   a  rough  voice, 


PAUSODYNE.  31 1 

*  what  are  you  a-doin'  in  this  'ere  fancy-dress  at  this 
hour  in  the  mornin'  ?  YouVe  lost  your  way  home,  I 
take  it.* 

"'I  was  going,*  I  answered,  'to  the  St.  Mary  le 
Bone  Road.* 

*'  *  Why,  you  image,*  says  he  rudely,  '  if  you  mean 
Marribon,  why  don't  you  say  Marribon  ?  What  house 
are  you  a-lookin'  for,  eh  ?* 

"  '  My  brother  lives,'  I  replied,  *  at  the  Lamb,  near 
St.  Mary*s  Church,  and  I  was  going  to  his  residence.' 

"  *  The  Lamb !'  says  he,  with  a  rude  laugh  ;  *  there 
ain't  no  public  of  that  name  in  the  road.  It*s  my 
belief,'  he  goes  on  after  a  moment,  *  that  you're  drunk, 
or  mad,  or  else  you've  stole  them  clothes.  Any  way, 
you've  got  to  go  along  with  me  to  the  station,  so  walk 
it,  will  you  ?* 

"  'Pardon  me,*  I  said,  '  I  suppose  you  are  an  officer 
of  the  law,  and  I  would  not  attempt  to  resist  your 
authority'  — '  You'd  better  not,'  says  he,  half  to  him- 
self— '  but  I  should  like  to  go  to  my  brother's  house, 
where  I  could  show  you  that  I  am  a  respectable 
person.' 

**  *  Well,'  says  my  fellow  insolently,  *  I'll  go  along  of 
you  if  you  like,  and  if  it's  all  right,  I  suppose  you 
won't  mind  standing  a  bob  ?' 

*•  *  A  what  ?'  said  L 

"  *  A  bob,'  says  he,  laughing  ;  '  a  shillin*,  you  know.' 

"  To  get  rid  of  his  insolence  for  a  while,  I  pulled 
out  my  purse  and  handed  him  a  shilling.  It  was  a 
George  II.  with  milled  edges,  not  like  the  things  I  see 
you  use  now.  He  held  it  up  and  looked  at  it,  and 
then  he  said  again,  *  Look  here,  you  know,  this  isn't 
good.     You'd  better  conrie  along  with  me  straight  tq 


312  STRANGE   STORIES. 

the  station,  and  not  make  a  fuss  about  it.  There's 
three  charges  against  you,  that's  all.  One  is,  that  . 
you're  drunk.  The  second  is,  that  you're  mad.  And 
the  third  is,  that  you've  been  trying  to  utter  false  coin. 
Any  one  of  'em's  quite  enough  to  justify  me  in  takin* 
you  into  custody.' 

"I  saw  it  was  no  use  to  resist,  and  I  went  along  with 
him. 

"  I  won't  trouble  you  with  the  whole  of  the  details, 
but  the  upshot  of  it  all  was,  they  took  me  before  a 
magistrate.  By  this  time  I  had  begun  to  realize  the 
full  terror  of  the  situation,  and  I  saw  clearly  that  the 
real  danger  lay  in  the  inevitable  suspicion  of  madness 
under  which  I  must  labor.  When  I  got  into  the  court 
I  told  the  magistrate  my  story  very  shortly  and  simply, 
just  as  I  have  told  it  to  you  now.  He  listened  to  me 
without  a  word,  and  at  the  end  he  turned  round  to  his 
clerk,  and  said,  *  This  is  clearly  a  case  for  Dr.  Fitz- 
Jenkins,  I  think.' 

"  *  Sir,'  I  said,  '  before  you  send  me  to  a  madhouse, 
which  I  suppose  is  what  you  mean  by  those  words,  I 
trust  you  will  at  least  examine  the  evidences  of  my 
story.  Look  at  my  clothing,  look  at  these  coins,  look 
at  everything  about  me.'  And  I  handed  him  my  purse 
to  see  for  himself. 

"  He  looked  at  it  for  a  minute,  and  then  he  turned 
towards  me  very  sternly.  *  Mr.  Spottiswood,'  he  said, 
'or  whatever  else  your  real  name  may  be,  if  this  is  a 
joke,  it  is  a  very  foolish  and  unbecoming  one.  Your 
dress  is  no  doubt  very  well  designed  ;  your  small  col- 
lection of  coins  is  interesting  and  well-selected  ;  and 
you  have  got  up  your  character  remarkably  well.  If 
you  are  really  sane^  which  I  suspect  to  be  the  case,  ;  ; 


PAUSODYNE.  313 

then  your  studied  attempt  to  waste  the  time  of  this 
court  and  to  make  a  laughing-stock  of  its  magistrate, 
will  meet  with  the  punishment  it  deserves.  I  shall 
remit  your  case  for  consideration  to  our  medical 
officer.  If  you  consent  to  give  him  your  real  name 
and  address,  you  will  be  liberated  after  his  examina- 
tion. Otherwise,  it  will  be  necessary  to  satisfy  our- 
selves as  to  your  identity.  Not  a  word  more,  sir,'  he 
continued,  as  I  tried  to  speak  on  behalf  of  my  story. 
*  Inspector,  remove  the  prisoner.' 

"  They  took  me  away,  and  the  surgeon  examined 
me.  To  cut  things  short,  I  was  pronounced  mad,  and 
three  days  later  the  commissioners  passed  me  for  a 
pauper  asylum.  When  I  came  to  be  examined,  they 
said  I  showed  no  recollection  of  most  subjects  of  ordi- 
nary education. 

"  *  I  am  a  chemist,'  said  I ;  '  try  me  with  some  chem- 
ical questions.  You  will  see  that  I  can  answer  sanely 
enough.* 

" '  How  do  you  mix  a  gray  powder  ?'  said  the  com- 
missioner. 

"  *  Excuse  me,*  I  said,  *  I  mean  a  chemical  philoso- 
pher, not  an  apothecary.' 

"  '  Oh^  very  well,  then  ;  what  is  carbonic  acid  ?' 

"  *  I  never  heard  of  it,'  I  answered  in  despair.  *  It 
must  be  something  which  has  come  into  use  since — 
since  I  left  off  learning  chemistry.*  For  I  had  discov- 
ered that  my  only  chance  now  was  to  avoid  all  refer- 
ence to  my  past  life  and  the  extraordinary  calamity 
which  had  thus  unexpectedly  overtaken  me.  '  Please 
try  me  with  something  else.* 

" '  Oh,  certainly.  What  is  the  atomic  weight  of 
chlorine  ?* 


314  STRANGE   STORIES.  *        ' 

**  I  could  only  answer  that  I  did  not  know. 

"  *  This  is  a  very  clear  case,'  said  the  commissioner. 
*  Evidently  he  is  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  education, 
but  he  can  give  no  very  satisfactory  account  of  his 
friends,  and  till  they  come  forward  to  claim  him  we 
can  only  send  him  for  a  time  to  North  Street.* 

"  *  For  heaven's  sake,  gentlemen,'  I  cried,  *  before  you 
consign  me  to  an  asylum,  give  me  one  more  chance.  I 
am  perfectly  sane  ;  I  remember  all  I  ever  knew  ;  but 
you  are  asking  me  questions  about  subjects  on  which 
1  never  had  any  information.  Ask  me  anything  his- 
torical, and  see  whether  I  have  forgotten  or  confused 
any  of  my  facts.' 

*'  I  will  do  the  commissioner  the  justice  to  say  that 
he  seemed  anxious  not  to  decide  upon  the  case  without 
full  consideration.  'Tell  me  what  you  can  recollect,' 
he  said,  '  as  to  the  reign  of  George  IV.' 

"  *  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  it,*  I  answered,  terror- 
stricken,  *  but  oh,  do  pray  ask  me  anything  up  to  the 
time  of  George  III.' 

*' '  Then  please  say  what  you  think  of  the  French 
Revolution.' 

"  I  was  thunderstruck.  I  could  make  no  reply,  and 
the  commissioners  shortly  signed  the  papers  to  send 
me  to  North  Street  pauper  asylum.  They  hurried  me 
into  the  street,  and  I  walked  beside  my  captors  towards 
the  prison  to  which  they  had  consigned  me.  Yet  I 
did  not  give  up  all  hope  even  so  of  ultimately  regain- 
ing my  freedom.  I  thought  the  rationality  of  my 
demeanor  and  the  obvious  soundness  of  all  my  reason- 
ing powers  would  sufifice  in  time  to  satisfy  the  medical 
attendant  as  to  my  perfect  sanity.    I   felt  sure  that 


.     PAUSODYNE.  315 

people  could  never  long  mistake  a  man  so  clear-headed 
and  collected  as  mvself  for  a  madman. 

"  On  our  way,  however,  we  happened  to  pass  a 
churchyard  where  some  workmen  were  engaged  in  re- 
moving a  number  of  old  tombstones  from  the  crowded 
area.  Even  in  my  existing  agitated  condition,  I  could 
not  help  catching  the  name  and  date  on  one  moulder- 
ing slab  which  a  laborer  had  just  placed  upon  the  edge 
of  the  pavement.  It  ran  something  like  this  :  Sacred 
to  the  memory  of  Amelia,  second  daughter  of  the  late 
Sir  Thomas  Spragg,  knight,  and  beloved  wife  of  Henry 
McAlister,  Esq.,  by  whom  this  stone  is  erected.  Died 
May  20,  1799,  aged  44  years.'  Though  I  had  gathered 
already  that  my  dear  girl  must  probably  have  long 
been  dead,  yet  the  reality  of  the  fact  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  fix  itself  upon  my  mind.  You  must  remember, 
my  dear  sir,  that  I  had  but  awaked  a  few  days  earlier 
from  my  long  slumber,  and  that  during  those  days  I 
had  been  harassed  and  agitated  by  such  a  flood  of 
incomprehensible  complications,  that  I  could  not  really 
grasp  in  all  its  fullness  the  complete  isolation  of  my 
present  position.  When  I  saw  the  tombstone  of  one 
whom,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  I  had  loved  passionately 
but  a  week  or  two  before,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
rushing  to  embrace  it,  and  covering  the  insensible 
stone  with  my  boiling  tears.  *  Oh,  my  Amelia,  my 
Amelia,' I  cried,  *I  shall  never  again  behold  thee,  then  ! 
I  shall  never  again  press  thee  to  my  heart,  or  hear  thy 
dear  lips  pronounce  my  name  !' 

"  But  the  unfeeling  wretches  who  had  charge  of  me 
were  far  from  being  moved  to  sympathy  by  my  bitter 
grief.  'Died  in  1799,*  said  one  of  them  with  a  sneer. 
'  Why,  this  madman's  blubbering  over  the  grave   of 


3l6  STRANGE  STORIES. 

I 

an  old  lady  who  has  been  buried  for  about  a  hundred 
years  !*  And  the  workmen  joined  in  their  laughter  as 
my  gaolers  tore  me  away  to  the  prison  where  I  was  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  my  days. 

"  When  we  arrived  at  the  asylum,  the  surgeon  in 
attendance  was  informed  of  this  circumstance,  and  the 
opinion  that  I  was  hopelessly  mad  thus  became 
ingrained  in  his  whole  conceptions  of  my  case.  I  re- 
mained five  months  or  more  in  the  asylum,  but  I  never 
saw  any  chance  of  creating  a  more  favorable  impression 
on  the  minds  of  the  authorities.  Mixing  as  I  did  only 
with  other  patients,  I  could  gain  no  clear  ideas  of  what 
had  happened  since  I  had  taken  my  fatal  sleep ;  and 
whenever  I  endeavored  to  question  the  keepers,  they 
amused  themselves  by  giving  me  evidently  false  and 
inconsistent  answers,  in  order  to  enjoy  my  chagrin  and 
confusion.  I  could  not  even  learn  the  actual  date  of 
the  present  year,  for  one  keeper  would  laugh  and  say 
it  was  200I,  while  another  would  confidentially  advise 
me  to  date  my  petition  to  the  Commissioners,  **  Jan. 
I,  A.  D.  one  million."  The  surgeon,  who  never  played 
me  any  such  pranks,  yet  refused  to  aid  me  in  any  way, 
lest  as  he  said,  he  should  strengthen  me  in  my  sad 
delusion.  He  was  convinced  that  I  must  be  an  histor- 
ical student,  whose  reason  had  broken  down  through 
too  close  study  of  the  eighteenth  century ;  and  he  felt 
certain  that  sooner  or  later  my  friends  would  come  to 
claim  me.  He  is  a  gentle  and  humane  man,  against 
whom  I  have  no  personal  complaint  to  make  ;  but  his 
initial  misconception  prevented  him  and  everybody 
else  from  ever  paying  the  least  attention  to  my  story. 
I  could  not  even  induce  them  to  make  inquiries  at  my 
house  at  Hampstead,  where  the  discovery  of  the  sub- 


PAUSODYNE.  317 

terranean  laboratory  would  have  partially  proved  the 
truth  of  my  account. 

Many  visitors  came  to  the  asylum  from  time  to  time, 
and  they  were  always  told  that  I  possessed  a  minute 
and  remarkable  acquaintance  with  the  history  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  They  questioned  me  about  facts 
which  are  as  vivid  in  my  memory  as  those  of  the  present 
month,  and  were  much  surprised  at  the  accuracy  of 
my  replies.  But  they  only  thought  it  strange  that  so 
clever  a  man  should  be  so  very  mad,  and  that  my  in- 
formation should  be  so  full  as  to  past  events,  while 
my  notions  about  the  modern  world  were  so  utterly 
chaotic.  The  surgeon,  however,  always  believed  that 
my  reticence  about  all  events  posterior  to  1781  was  a 
part  of  my  insanity.  I  had  studied  the  early  part 
of  the  eighteenth  century  so  fully,  he  said,  that  I 
fancied  I  had  lived  in  it ;  and  I  had  persuaded  myself 
that  I  knew  nothing  at  all  about  the  subsequent  state 
of  the  world." 

The  poor  fellow  stopped  a  while,  and  again  drew 
his  sleeve  across  his  forehead.  It  was  impossible  to 
look  at  him  and  believe  for  a  moment  that  he  was  a 
madman. 

"  And  how  did  you  make  your  escape  from  the  asy- 
lum ?"   I  asked. 

"  Now,  this  very  evening,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  simply 
broke  away  from  the  door  and  ran  down  toward  the 
Strand,  till  I  came  to  a  place  that  looked  a  little  like 
St.  Martin's  Fields,  with  a  great  column  and  some 
fountains,  and  near  there  I  met  you.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  catch  the  York 
coach  and  get  away  from  the  town  as  soon  as  possible. 
You  met  me,  and  your  look  and  name  inspired  me 


3l8  STRANGE  STORIES. 

with  confidence.  I  believe  you  must  be  a  descendant 
of  my  dear  brother." 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt,"  I  answered  sol- 
emnly, "  that  every  word  of  your  story  is  true,  and 
that  you  are  really  my  great-great-unclc.  My  own 
knowledge  of  our  family  history  exactly  tallies  with 
what  you  tell  me.  I  shall  spare  no  endeavor  to  clear  up 
this  extraordinary  matter,  and  to  put  you  once  more 
in  your  true  position." 

"  And  you  will  protect  me  ?"  he  cried,  fervently,  clasp- 
ing my  hand  in  both  his  own  with  intense  eageri^ess. 
"  You  will  not  give  me  u[  Dnce  more  to  the  asylum 
people  ?" 

"  I  will  do  everything  on  earth  that  is  possible  for 
you,"  I  replied. 

He  lifted  my  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  several 
times,  while  I  felt  hot  tears  falling  upon  it  as  he  bent 
over  me.  It  was  a  strange  position,  look  at  it  how  you 
will.  Grant  that  I  was  but  the  dupe  of  a  madman,  yet 
even  to  believe  for  a  moment  that  I,  a  man  of  well- 
nigh  fifty,  stood  there  in  face  of  my  own  great-grand- 
father's brother,  to  all  appearance  some  twenty  years 
my  junior,  was  in  itself  an  extraordinary  and  marvellous 
thing.  Both  of  us  were  too  overcome  to  speak.  It 
was  a  few  minutes  before  we  said  anything,  and  then  a 
loud  knock  at  the  door  made  my  hunted  stranger  rise 
up  hastily  in  terror  from  his  chair. 

"  Gracious  heavens  !"  he  cried,  "  they  have  tracked 
me  hither.  They  are  coming  to  fetch  me.  Oh,  hide 
me,  hide  me,  anywhere  from  these  wretches  !" 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened,  and  two  keepers  with 
a  policeman,  entered  my  room. 

"  Ah,  here  he  is  !"  said  one  of  them,  advancing  to- 


TAUSODYNE.      '  319 

wards  the  fugitive,  who  shrank  away  towards  the  win- 
dow as  he  approached. 

"  Do  not  touch  him,"  I  exclaimed,  throwing  myself 
in  the  way.  "  Every  word  of  what  he  says  is  true,  and 
he  is  no  more  insane  than  I  am." 

The  keeper  laughed  a  low  laugh  of  vulgar  incredu- 
lity. "  Why,  there's  a  pair  of  you,  I  do  believe,"  he 
said.  "  You're  just  as  mad  yourself  as  t'other  one." 
And  he  pushed  me  aside  roughly  to  get  at  his  charge. 

But  the  poor  fellow,  seeing  him  come  towards  him, 
seemed  suddenly  to  grow  instinct  with  a  terrible  vigor, 
and  hurled  off  the  keeper  with  one  hand,  as  a  strong 
man  might  do  with  a  little  terrier.  Then,  before  we 
could  see  what  he  was  meditating,  he  jumped  upon 
the  ledge  of  the  open  window,  shouted  out  loudly, 
"  Farewell,  farewell  !"  and  leapt  with  a  spring  on  to 
the  Embankment  beneath. 

All  four  of  us  rushed  hastily  down  the  three  flights 
of  steps  to  the  bottom,  and  came  below  upon  a 
crushed  and  mangled  mass  on  the  si)attered  pavement. 
He  was  quite  dead.  Even  the  policeman  was  shocked 
and  horrified  at  the  dreadful  way  in  which  the  body 
had  been  crushed  and  mutilated  in  its  fall,  and  at  the 
suddenness  and  unexpectedness  of  the  tragedy.  We 
took  him  up  and  laid  him  out  in  my  room  ;  and  from 
that  room  he  was  interred  after  the  incpiest,  with  all 
the  respect  which  I  should  have  paid  to  an  undoubted 
relative.  On  his  grave  in  Kensal  Green  Cemetery  1  have 
placed  a  stone  bearing  the  simple  inscription,  "  Jona- 
than Spottiswood.  Died  1 88 1."  The  hint  1  had  re- 
ceived from  the  keeper  prevented  me  from  saying  any- 
thing as  to  my  belief  in  his  story,  but  I  asked  for  leave 
to  undertake  the  duty  of  his  interment  on  the  ground 
that  he  bore  my  own  surname,  and  that  no  other  per- 


320  STRANGE  STORIES.  ' 

son  was  forthcoming  to  assume  the  task.  The  paro- 
chial authorities  were  glad  enough  to  rid  the  ratepay- 
ers of  the  expense. 

At  the  inquest  I  gave  my  evidence  simply  and 
briefly,  dwelling  mainly  upon  the  accidental  nature  of 
our  meeting,  and  the  facts  as  to  his  fatal  leap.  I  said 
nothing  about  the  known  disappearance  of  Jonathan 
Spottiswood  in  1781,  nor  the  other  points  which  gave 
credibility  to  his  strange  tale.  But  from  this  day  for- 
ward I  give  myself  up  to  proving  the  truth  of  his 
story,  and  realizing  the  splendid  chemical  discovery 
which  promises  so  much  benefit  to  mankind.  Forthefirst 
purpose,  I  have  offered  a  large  reward  for  the  discovery 
of  a  trapdoor  in  a  coal-cellar  at  Hampstead,  leading 
into  a  subterranean  passage  and  laboratory  ;  since, 
unfortunately,  my  unhappy  visitor  did  not  happen  to 
mention  the  position  of  his  house.  For  the  second 
purpose,  I  have  begun  a  series  af  experiments  upon 
the  properties  of  the  essential  oil  of  alchemilla,  and 
the  possibility  of  successfully  treating  it  with  car- 
bonic anhydride  ;  since,  unfortunately,  he  was  equally 
vague  as  to  the  nature  of  his  process  and  the  pro- 
portions of  either  constituent.  Many  people  will  con- 
clude at  once,  no  doubt,  that  I  myself  have  become 
infected  with  the  monomania  of  my  miserable  name- 
sake, but  I  am  determined  at  any  rate,  not  to  allow 
so  extraordinary  an  anaesthic  to  go  unacknowledged, 
if  there  be  even  a  remote  chance  of  actually  proving 
its  useful  nature.  Meanwhile,  I  say  nothing  even  to 
my  dearest  friends  with  regard  to  the  researches  upon 
which  I  am  engaged. 

•,  THE  END. 


